


The Road Not Taken

by nightmares06, PL1



Series: Brothers Lost [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Borrowers - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Baby, Borrower Sam, Brothers, Captive, Captives, Capture, Car repair, Colt - Freeform, Cursed, Dean's Amulet, Dean's Baby, Drunk Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, G/T, GT, Gen, Heirloom, Impala 67, John Winchester's Journal, Pie, Protective Big Brother, Protective Sam, Samulet, Sassy Dean, Size Fic, Snark, Struggle, The Family Business, The Impala - Freeform, Tipsy Dean, Trapped, Witch - Freeform, abandoned, alcohol cw, borrower dean, coffee pot, curse, dean's colt, duffel bag, giant tiny - Freeform, gianttiny, hunting things, knife, leather jacket, lost brothers, protective big brother dean, protective little brother, protective little brother sam, protective!Dean, protective!Sam, sam and dean - Freeform, sammy - Freeform, satchel, saving people, shrinking fic, silver knife, working on the impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 74,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PL1/pseuds/PL1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saving people. Hunting things.</p><p>It was what they were supposed to<i> do</i>. Who they were supposed to <i>be.</i> Instead, that life was stolen from them by a witch and a curse in childhood, stripped away and replaced by one goal:</p><p>Survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pie

_2007_  
  
_Haven, Kansas_  
  
“You know, you’ve done a lot of stupid things before, but this has to take the cake!”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t break stride. Sam had to walk faster to catch up, grumbling about his older brother’s stubborn behavior while his naysaying only seemed to galvanize Dean more.  
  
“Dammit, Dean. We can’t go into that room. We have no idea when that kid’s coming back. Hell, for all we know he just stepped outside for a smoke!”  
  
Sam finally got a firm hand on Dean’s shoulder, and tried to whirl him around. Dean caught his arm and used his momentum against him, sending him flying into the ground with a practiced motion and a puff of dust. He grinned at the frazzled, breathless Sam he held pinned. “You’re getting soft there, kiddo.”  
  
Sam made a face and kicked up with a leg. He managed to catch Dean’s side, flipping him onto the ground in seconds and reversing their position. His grin matched Dean’s from mere seconds ago. “You were saying, jackass?”  
  
“Get off me.”  
  
Sam helped Dean to his feet. “C’mon, let's just head back, wait until it’s night. We can hit the room then. Walt never has to know we were here.”  
  
Dean threw him a look. “All you _do_ is argue with Walt! I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”  
  
“Sure, I _argue_ with him, but _this?_ And for what - a slice of pie?”  
  
Dean held out his arms. “How often do we see a slice of pie left out in a room? Hell, how often do we see it just vanish into the fridge whether they remember it or not? Sam, I’ve _got_ to try. We might not get this chance again!” It was practically calling his name.  
  
It hurt for him to admit that, but it was sadly true for them both. Fourteen years ago, the Winchester brothers had gone to a motel with their dad, a motel indistinguishable from the countless others they’d lived in for most of their lives. He was on a hunt, searching for missing children in the area. Sam was only ten years old back then, Dean fourteen.  
  
John Winchester had left them alone in that room.  
  
Dean wasn’t completely sure what had happened that night. He could remember a woman, suddenly standing inside their bolted door. Himself, slamming against the wall.  
  
A flash of white hitting Sam.  
  
Before Dean could react past the shock that covered his face, the same flash slammed into him.  
  
Then he was falling into darkness.  
  
The next thing he could remember was waking up. It was dark. Closed off. The smell of dust filled the air. Two people were in the room watching over them. A woman, her blonde hair and blue eyes gentle as she helped Dean off of the pile of stacked up fabric. She was _tiny,_ even next to himself as a kid. In fact, even Sam wasn’t far from her height back then. He’d outgrown her in only a few years.  
  
Walt and Mallory Watch, their saviors and the people who were trying to nurse the brothers back to health, had tried to convince him, but he didn’t want to see the truth. He didn’t want to hear that he’d been cursed, and stood under four inches tall.  
  
He didn’t want to listen to them when they told him his entire world had been stolen out from under his feet.  
  
Dean had grabbed Sam. They’d tried to run off into dark corridors, following dusty paths in a maze of wooden supports and sharp corners. Walt pursued them, desperate to get them back before they got themselves in trouble in a world they didn’t know.  
  
In his urgency, Dean had burst into an occupied motel room.  
  
Occupied by giants.  
  
The frozen fear of realization that washed over both brothers made it easy for Walt to drag them back to the safety of the walls. The _walls,_ which had become their entire world and sanctuary. There was no safety to be found anywhere else.  
  
Over the years they’d both come to terms with their new lives. Walt and Mallory had helped them adjust to the way things were, adopting the Winchester boys as their own. Teaching them how to survive, where and when to find supplies and food. Lessons they needed to take to heart to have a chance in a world that outsized them by almost twenty times.  
  
Dean had tried to go back and find his dad. The motel room John Winchester had stayed in was empty by the time he got back. No one was there, and all Dean could find was dust bunnies and broken promises, which he’d kicked his boot through in teary-eyed desperation as he realized they had no way to find him. No way to call their father, who changed phones on a regular basis and who had no set address.  
  
They were lost.  
  
Cursed to live at a size where either brother could be closed in a fist and never be heard from again. Left by their father, abandoned to live out their lives in a motel with the help of their two rescuers.  
  
These days, Dean lived on his own. He’d found a place to build a home and had spent his time adjusting it to be livable just like Walt and Mallory had done with their space under the floorboards. Mallory helped him with fabrics, making up wall hangings to drape on the walls for insulation and covers for his own nest of blankets. Sam had a bed back with Walt and Mallory. Dean had insisted that his younger brother use it when they’d discovered dollhouse furniture in abandoned motel room.  
  
Sam came to stay with him more often than not. It didn’t feel right to be too far apart after everything they’d survived together. Dean knew that it was assumed that Sam would eventually court Krissy, but Sam himself was uncomfortable with the idea. There were no girls in the area that were Dean’s age, so he was left on his own.  
  
To brood, mostly.  
  
Which was why Sam had a habit of showing up at the worst times, trying in vain to keep his big brother’s mind off of their situation.  
  
Like right now, when he was trying to sneak into a room where the guest had absentmindedly left out a slice of pie before heading out again, locking the door behind him and walking away with those thudding footsteps that Dean knew would feel seismic if they came too close.  
  
_I mean, who can turn down a slice of pie?_  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes back at Dean, matching him in stubbornness like he always did. But he couldn’t take this chance from Dean, not after watching his brother slowly grow more and more depressed the longer they were trapped in the dead-end motel. This wasn’t where his proud older brother was meant to end up.  
  
He was supposed to be out _there_. Saving people. Hunting things.  
  
He wasn’t supposed to be the victim, trapped by a witch and a curse that tore his entire world away. Everything gone but Sam himself.  
  
Sam groaned and rubbed his face, relenting. “ _Fine._ But I’m not letting you get into trouble out there alone. Walt will kill me if you get yourself caught.”  
  
Dean flashed him his customary smirk, a sight that was growing rarer as time went on. He didn’t wait for Sam to change his mind, darting past his taller brother to the vent that waited for them at the end of the long metal pathway. The light taps of Sam's footsteps quickly started up as he kept pace with Dean.  
  
When Dean reached the vent, he paused. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the rules that Walt had drilled into their heads time and time again.  
  
Examine the room. Watch the shadows. Listen for breathing.  
  
The fact that he was small enough to hear breathing so easily stood out to Dean. He and Sam were both so small. So vulnerable if they got seen. The concealed knives they both carried in their jackets, made by Dean the year before they’d been cursed, wouldn’t do much against a human.  
  
But it was better than nothing.  
  
Even Walt kept a razor he’d filched on hand at all times. It was bulky and sharp, hidden in his own jacket. He used it to take on rats on his own long before he took Dean and Sam under his wing. For that, Dean admired him. Rats were _huge_ compared to them. Like bears with bad tempers, quick claws, and scaly tails. He’d taken on a few himself with Walt and Sam as backup, and it wouldn’t be something he’d want to do on his own.  
  
When he was certain there were no humans in the room and it was as empty as he’d thought when he’d first glimpsed the unmistakable styrofoam container of pie, Dean lead the way. He squirmed his way through the vents and dropped to the floor. He was silent as he waited for Sam to join him. It was a routine they’d done many times before. They worked better together than they did on their own. A simple fact of life after living their entire lives with the other around.  
  
Once Sam was out, they were off and running along the wall. The beds stood between them and the table that loomed next to the room’s mini-fridge. They kept against the wall the entire way until they passed underneath the dark bed with crowds of tangled dustbunnies lurking underneath. There, they were able to change direction and run for the table while still remaining undercover.  
  
It was best to avoid the wide open spaces. Open air was dangerous. It was safer to be in a place with cover. A place to hide.  
  
Dean skidded to a halt when he reached the end of the protective shadows cast by the bed and scanned the room once more. Sam did the same, checking their area in case Dean missed anything. Patience was key, as Walt repeated over and over again. The brothers worked like a single unit, always watching each others’ backs.  
  
Holding out a hand to halt Sam, Dean signaled that he would go first. He was the oldest. It was his idea, so he’d take the risk.  
  
When Sam nodded a silent affirmation back, he darted out into the open and shot towards the looming table. Even while running, he scanned the area. There was a hulking backpack off to the side, one that made Dean shudder to think of how easily he and Sam could be trapped inside it.  
  
That wasn’t going to happen.  
  
He had his hook out in seconds, taking aim at the table overhead while Sam darted out from under the bed himself. Dean’s toss found its mark as Sam came up behind him.  
  
In a flash, his younger brother was scrambling up. He didn’t even miss a beat between running and climbing. He was a much more agile climber, as they’d both come to realize. This was a routine they’d done many times before.  
  
As soon as Sam vanished up on the table, Dean started his own way up. His arms shook slightly at the thought of how high he was going and he ruthlessly suppressed that feeling. He needed to focus. They were out in a motel room in the middle of the day, meaning the human could come back at any time.  
  
He was slower than Sam, but he got up there all the same. Sam’s hands found his arms, pulling him off of the side of the table. Ever since shrinking down, both brothers were unnaturally strong compared to what was normal for humans. More than once they’d hauled each other around with barely any effort. Walt and Mallory were the same, so Dean had to assume it was a side-effect of their new size. Something must make them stronger at the same time as it shrank them. It was a small blessing that could make all the difference in the world.  
  
“Keep a look out, okay?” he asked Sam out of habit, breaking the silence around them. Sam already knew, of course. He had an uncanny ability to know when others were around, all the way down to feeling their eyes on him if they were searching for him.  
  
Sam nodded and took his post at the edge of the table while Dean ran to the white container that held his gooey, delicious prize. A heavenly scent of apples and cinnamon greeted him.  
  
Dean got his knife out and started to slice off the tab that was holding it shut.  
  
His prize for this daring venture was waiting just inside the white container.

* * *

**SUPERNATURAL**

* * *

[Ready to go! by Mogadeer](http://mogadeer.tumblr.com/post/143871653783/finished-commission-for-nightmares06-sam-and)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are here at last, a new story! In this one, Sam and Dean were both hit by a curse as children, shrinking them down to barely three inches in size all the way back in 1993. Now, years later, they've come to terms with this fate as best they can and are focused on surviving... and pie. Sam stands 4 inches tall and Dean is 3.8. In 2007, they're going to find more than they bargained for on one fateful trip to a motel room for supplies.
> 
> We are excited to kick off Brothers Lost at last and hope you're all ready for the ride! Leave a review to let us know what you think!


	2. The Drifter

Dean gave a hiss of triumph as his knife passed through the last part of the white tab for the boxed up pie. He tossed it to the ground and started to push open the box to reveal his prize, a long-sought-after dessert that he hadn’t had the pleasure of enjoying in fourteen years, a length of time more than half his and Sam’s lives.  
  
In fact, he shouldn’t have known about the delectable dessert at all, but something in the back of his mind had been shouting out at him that he needed to check the room closest to where he’d set up his home in the walls. It was a sense he’d learned to follow, just like they’d learned from experience that if Sam said there was someone watching them or looking for them, there was definitely someone looking for them. It was nothing any of them could explain, just like the abnormal strength, but no one would complain.  
  
When you didn’t stand four inches in height, you learned to take the good with the bad.  
  
Without that sense he never would have known to check the room and never would have seen the container of pie sitting out so innocuously.  
  
Abilities like that might make them interesting to hunters. Dean knew that all too well. People with psychic abilities tended to fall on the ‘dangerous’ side of the supernatural world. Add to that their unnatural stature and well.   
  
He could just be happy that no hunters had ever wandered their way since his own father had been in town the week they got cursed.  
  


* * *

  
The air was brisk in the waning afternoon. The early spring temperatures had yet to really warm up, though in a place like Haven, Kansas it wouldn’t take too long for summer to start up in a blaze of humidity and soaring temperatures. Already the grass was poking out of the ground in stubborn emerald tufts, resolutely getting a head start on all the other growth for the coming season.  
  
After spending the winter at one of the local farms helping to keep the livestock fed and watered, Jacob Andris was ready to move on to the next job. His contract was up and he’d just checked his bank account at the ATM in the local Quik Stop. The payment had made it in shortly after he had a mid-afternoon lunch in the local diner, waiting for check-in time at the _Trails West_ motel.  
  
During the winter he’d stayed at the farmhouse, but it didn’t seem right to stay there much longer now that his work was done. Jacob didn’t want to overstay his welcome. So he’d said his goodbyes to the farmers, gone into town, and gotten some food. He stowed the leftovers in the room before wandering outside to enjoy the day while the sun was up.  
  
His life had become a series of simple joys like that. Jacob, only freshly 18 the previous summer, had decided against going to college in favor of entering the workforce. He could start giving money back to his mom here and there by doing manual labor, instead of incurring thousands of dollars in debt.  
  
He’d tried once or twice to interview with scholarship committees, who took one look at him and raised their eyebrows skeptically. He was only 18, but he’d already reached his considerable full height of six foot five. That didn’t tend to scream “academic success,” and not having straight A’s came back to bite him. Plus, since he’d never been on the football team, no recruiters caught sight of him for an athletic scholarship either.  
  
So he hadn’t planned ahead that far. He wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last.  
  
It made Jacob something of a drifter, traveling back and forth wherever the jobs took him. He didn’t mind. He’d always enjoyed road trips.  
  
He’d started the summer before his last year of high school, stacking boxes for a warehouse back in Iowa. His size and bulk lent itself to the heavy lifting jobs like that, and the experience gave him the edge he needed to grab himself similar jobs right after graduation.  
  
His mom always said she missed him, out on the road so much, but she was proud of him. She always said his dad would be proud, too, and that kept him going in the rare times that he wondered if he’d have been better off trying for a degree.  
  
Jacob absently brushed a fingertip over the green glass bead in his necklace, a twine choker that he’d had since he was a kid, while he perused the shelves near the register of the convenience store. His other hand gripped a handful of different newspapers from the basket, as well as a bag of Fritos (a guilty pleasure).  
  
He always picked up local papers as well as national ones. Anything with want ads was fair game to him since he had nothing against traveling to his next job. Jacob didn’t have a computer, so he couldn’t go looking online for work. He had to do it the old fashioned way.  
  
Some people might worry about him, just a kid out on his own in the world. It was dangerous to travel alone like that. Jacob didn’t even have a cell phone. He had to save his quarters for the pay phones.  
  
Yet as Jacob got to the counter and set down his papers and chips, the cashier almost drew back. It was a squat little man, probably in his forties and openly marveling at how tall and built Jacob was for his otherwise youthful appearance.  
  
He was used to it. Jacob had shot up in height at around 14, and hadn’t really stopped until recently. It gave him a lot of capacity to “loom,” as his mom liked to put it. He’d done his best to learn how to seem non-threatening that way, putting his usually relaxed demeanor to good use.  
  
Being one of the tallest people around did help him avoid trouble, though. One of the dangers of being alone was practically nonexistent.  
  
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Jacob asked as he leafed through the papers to make sure he had the right count. “Got one from each of your baskets over there.”  
  
The man seemed put at ease at least a little by his friendly words and smile, and he practically saw the tension melt off the guy. “I’ll ring that up for ya. You just passing through, kid? On vacation, or what?”  
  
“Yes and no,” Jacob answered, handing over some cash once the amount showed up on the little screen attached to the register. “Passing through, just finished a temp job up the road. On my way to the next one.” His deep voice, thankfully, didn’t intimidate the man again while he graciously bagged up Jacob’s purchase.  
  
“Well, that’s how it goes, buddy,” the cashier laughed. “Good luck.”  
  
Jacob thanked him and left, making his way back to his motel in a slow, ambling walk. He was in no rush. There was leftover pie waiting for him in his room, but he could eat that at any time. One of the many perks of having his own schedule. Jacob glanced up as a flock of geese soared overhead in a V formation, honking and arguing amongst themselves as they went.  
  
The faded, worn down _Trails West_ sign soon came into view, and Jacob took his hands out of his hoodie pockets to fish around in his jeans for his key. He was halfway across the parking lot before he got ahold of it, pinching the shard of metal in two thick fingers. His footsteps scraped against the ground by the time he slipped past his car on the way to his door.  
  
The car, a maroon Mercury Cougar, had been reliable for him ever since he got it sometime in the middle of high school. Jacob appreciated the machine’s persistence, considering its distinctly worn-down (but cared for) nature. It might not be the best road trip car, but it came pretty damn close.  
  
He had to suppress a yawn as he got to the door, covering his face with the back of his arm. Working hard, on a schedule like his, made it easy to start dragging by the late afternoon hours. Jacob might end up having to take a short snooze before he got to work searching for a new job.  
  
He fumbled only for a second with the old, sticky lock before his key slid into place and turned with a flick of his wrist.  
  


* * *

  
Dean managed to push the thick white styrofoam up to chest height, almost groaning when he caught another whiff of the pie inside. _Apple._ Excitement flooded his heart. As if things couldn’t get any better.  
  
And then they couldn’t.  
  
“ _Dean!_ ” Sam hissed from his station next to the hook. “He’s back!”  
  
Dean’s blood chilled as he turned around. The sound of immense feet scuffing against the ground outside sent daggers of fear up his back. Shoes big enough to crush Dean and Sam both from existence without their owner even _noticing_ crunched against gravel and crumbling asphalt.  
  
The human was back, and they were out in the open over three feet in the air.  
  
As the looming shadow of the young man fell over the doorway like a shroud, Dean was running towards Sam. “Go!” he snapped, taking command instantly. Sam’s face clouded over, costing them precious seconds of time in indecision. They had two hooks, but there was a chance of losing both of them if they climbed down together, which was why one brother always kept a hook in reserve. Their backup plan, one designed by Dean.  
  
Losing both hooks could get them killed even if they never got caught. It was their only way to get food, after all, and one of the contingency plans Sam hated the most because of the way it meant that Dean, the slower climber, would be following him down.  
  
Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulders and forced him to the hook that was lodged in a crack in the wood. “I’ll be right behind you!” he swore, understanding Sam’s hesitation but knowing they couldn’t afford a second more just standing on the table. The human would be in the room in seconds, and they were up on the table with no cover in sight.   
  
“The faster you get down, the faster I’ll be able to follow!”   
  
The only one in the motel able to make it to the floor in seconds was Sam. There was no use making him wait for Dean to make his own halting way down, maybe costing both of their lives with his fear of heights. Sam had an annoying (to Dean) habit of just sliding carelessly down, using the cuff of his jacket to cut out the friction. It was why he was always first up, first down. They couldn’t afford Dean slowing them down when trouble showed up.  
  
Sam sent him a desperate glance with pleading hazel eyes, looking for all the world like he wanted to argue with Dean’s words.  
  
But there was no time.  
  
Sam swung off the side of the table. His skills with climbing came in handy during times like this. He dwindled out of sight and Dean leaned over to track his progress, his own hand tightening on the strap of the leather bag that he had slung around his shoulder. Walt had made it for him, and it was long and wide, a lot like the old duffel he used to stuff his clothes inside when they were on the road with John Winchester. It gave him plenty of room to stash supplies when they ventured out, and he had hoped to fill it with pie before they had to leave the room.  
  
Sam hit the ground and was already running for the dresser as Dean climbed over the edge. His heart rate increased and he shut his eyes as the sound of metal scraping on metal came from the door.  
  
Time was up.  
  
There was nothing in the world that would ever make Dean a climber like Sam. He edged down the thread, hoping and praying that the key would get stuck, that the door wouldn’t open. That a person out in the parking lot would call for the human’s attention or he’d be distracted on the phone and wouldn’t notice the cursed man trying to make his way down from a devastating height.  
  
The tall door, immovable to someone Dean’s size, swung open with a creak, all from an effortless push with one enormous hand. A plastic bag from the convenience store was hanging on the same wrist, and it crackled and rustled as it swayed suspended in the air. Thudding footsteps shook through even the table from several feet away as the most absolutely massive human Dean had ever laid eyes on stepped over the threshold.  
  
Big brown eyes, so high above, seemed to zero right in on Dean, and they widened at the sight.  
  
Jacob let his bag fall and hastily yanked the key from the lock, swinging the door shut behind him without looking. It slammed with a rush of air and sealed him in the room with what might be a very convincing hallucination.  
  
But no. It persisted, and despite blinking several times, Jacob couldn’t get the image of what looked like a _tiny little man_ climbing down a thread that hooked to the motel room’s table. Jacob didn’t even feel the key falling from his grasp as he stared for a second longer. It hit the carpet with a thump that was lost to the shock of what he saw.  
  
Jacob suddenly had a thought that, if that little guy made it to the floor and took off, he might never get to find out anything more. Why the guy was there. Where he'd come from. What he was. So Jacob strode forward, crossing the short distance in only a stride or two, and stooped to get a better look.  
  
His glance over the little guy revealed what looked to be a tiny little leather bag hanging from one shoulder. While he was climbing down a rope. _That’s impressive,_ he thought vaguely as one of his hands shot out to halt the desperate downward climb.  
  
Jacob marveled at the fact that his fingers were longer than the little person was tall as they sealed around the little body. The teeny arms were left free, since they’d been at a lucky angle when Jacob’s hand reached him.  
  
He stood up straight again, lifting the little guy away from the table as he did so. With his other hand, Jacob reached up and gently tugged the thread away from where it had been caught along with the little person, and, like the key, he let that fall to the ground out of sight. His eyes skated over the tiny form with unmasked awe.  
  
Not wanting to squash the little guy, Jacob made it easier on himself and pinched the tiny duffel bag in his fingers, prying it away as gently as he could considering how _little_ this guy was. He set it on the table distractedly once his hand was securely around the tiny person.   
  
Then he allowed himself to stare.  
  
“Holy shit,” he muttered. “What the hell…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Jacob Andris, our other main character alongside Sam and Dean!
> 
> ...I don't think Dean appreciates that, Jacob. Might wanna take things a little slower than just nabbing the guy.


	3. Dammit, Godzilla

“Stupid sonovabitch… stupid, stupid, stupid…”  
  
Dean climbed down a few more inches, hand over hand, as the door swung open with an ominous creak and a rush of air from the outside world. Light swept in, illuminating him as he tried to focus on climbing down faster.  
  
He went faster than he’d ever climbed before, and it was still barely a crawl compared to Sam at his best.  
  
Heights were _not_ Dean’s thing.  
  
He didn’t know the cause. Give him a tree in his childhood, he’d do his best to scale it to the top. Sam had been a monkey even then. More than once Dean had been tasked with the arduous job of getting him down from the uppermost branches, a painful drop waiting below him if he slipped. He could do it, if just barely. And not without giggles and snickers from his little brother the entire way.  
  
After being cursed that fateful night, his days had become nothing but constant climbing and testing his limits. Walt and Mallory had taken the young brothers in, straining their own resources with no thoughts about the cost of doing it. Survival was hard at their size.  
  
Because of his young age, Sam had been kept in the small home to adjust as much as possible. Dean, being older, had followed Walt out to the rooms to start learning the ropes almost immediately. With the scarcity of food in the motel, he needed to chip in to help the family that had saved his life and Sam’s. He would never regret helping out.  
  
What he did regret was the _climbing_.  
  
He’d gone from climbing trees a few times in the summer to constantly scaling up tables, nightstands and dressers that formed sheer, immovable cliffs. The ground would telescope beneath his dangling feet if he chanced a glance down. He’d learned early on the truth in the old saying “Don’t look down.” It was his mantra. If he looked down, he’d freeze in terror of the sheer drop beneath him. Walt had climbed up more than once just to pry the youth off the thread and get him to safety.  
  
Over the years, the effect had begun to numb. The sheer amount of times he’d climbed began to make him inured to it. Sam had started accompanying him to the rooms, and the brothers had discovered that they made a smooth team, working together seamlessly. One would get their hook to lodge in a crack and the other would dart up. They’d always have a spare hook on hand, just in case they became separated from the one they were using. Dean liked having a contingency plan for anything, especially since the world now outsized them by almost twenty times.  
  
It felt like the last fourteen years of efforts to stay safe, to stay _alive_ flashed across his mind as the door finished swinging open. Dean couldn’t stop from looking over his shoulder.  
  
He instantly wished he hadn’t.  
  
The human standing in the doorframe, lit up from behind by the afternoon sun, was _massive_. Dean hadn’t been around many humans for long since the curse, but he’d seen enough to know that this kid, who didn’t even look old enough to drink, was one of the largest around. Broad shoulders framed an immense chest. Legs thicker than redwoods stretched down to the floor, ending in huge boots planted irrevocably on the ground. Nothing Dean or Sam could ever do would daunt such a huge person.  
  
And the kid’s brown eyes, as huge as the rest of him, were glued right on Dean.  
  
It felt like an eternity passed with them both frozen like that.  
  
The moment was shattered as the plastic bag fell from those massive hands bigger than Dean’s bed, landing on the floor with a loud crackling of plastic and a distinct rustling of several newspapers. As the human fumbled his key from the door, Dean took the initiative to start climbing down again, understanding all too well he was in a race against time.  
  
One he never had a ghost of a chance of winning.  
  
A brief bout of gratitude filled him that Sam was under cover. He’d be watching Dean’s progress from under the shadow of the dresser, but he was out of sight, as safe as either of them could ever be with a human in the room. Dean didn’t know what he’d do if Sam was ever caught. He’d done everything in his life that he could to keep his younger brother safe, and them being cursed was no different.  
  
The thread he was dangling from started to vibrate in time with massive footsteps, and Dean knew beyond any glimmer of a doubt that he’d lost his race.  
  
He tightened his grasp against the thick thread. Unlike Sam’s durable fishing line, Dean’s simple thread came from a sewing kit. Solid black, it did a good job of blending in against the majority of surfaces. His hook, lodged into the table with its single barbed prong compared to Sam’s three barbed prongs, shook with him and he uttered a silent prayer that it wouldn’t slip and send him plummeting the last foot and a half to the ground during the rhythmic earthquake of footsteps.  
  
The shaking stopped, right as a shadow slid over his body.  
  
Dean loosened his grip, letting himself try Sam’s move of sliding down the thread to get to the ground faster despite all his fears of heights pleading with him to reconsider. The ground had stopped shaking, which must mean…  
  
Movement caught the corner of his eye, sending his blood back into the freezing range as a hand swept towards him. There was no way for Dean, under four inches tall and clinging to a rope over a foot in the air, to avoid the grab. Thick, ridged skin closed around his body, surrounding him with a wall of fingers _all_ longer and more powerful than the cursed man.  
  
Then the grip tightened, solidified around him without hesitation, and his fate was sealed.  
  
From his chest up, Dean was left free, trying to shove away the fingers closed around him. His hands planted on an enormous thumb and index finger, desperately pushing against thick skin that hardly had any give to it. The rest of his body all the way to his homemade boots, was sealed in a grip that he couldn’t break. No amount of his struggling could have any effect, his legs motionless no matter how hard he strained.  
  
Seconds later, his struggles stopped.  
  
The human was _standing_.  
  
Dean, who, after years of work had started to grow accustomed to hauling himself up furniture the size of buildings with straight vertical walls, was being pulled into the air with absolutely no control over any of it. His heart rate skyrocketed and his head bowed slightly as gravity fought his rapid ascent. He found himself clinging to the same fingers he’d been fighting against, his thread still clutched in his hands. He was being held, completely helpless in a fist, over six feet in the air just so some human could get a good look at him.  
  
He was just a curiosity.  
  
Even those thoughts fled as the thread was pulled effortlessly from his hands. It was like his grip didn’t even exist, like he was the smallest, weakest animal being held by their largest predator. He was easier than a baby to contain, and more helpless, no matter that he had twenty-eight years under his belt and a wealth of experiences from living at this size.  
  
Now, it seemed that he’d be adding another experience to his growing list.  
  
Capture.  
  
The grip loosened slightly around him, sending Dean’s heart into even greater panic as he felt like he lost the support keeping him from falling. He was still pinned to the human’s palm, but part of him was exposed to the air. The very _high up_ air.  
  
The strap of his leather duffel bag suddenly shifted on his shoulder and nothing Dean could do would keep it there. The human took that away as easily as he’d taken away the thread, dropping it down somewhere out of Dean’s line of sight.  
  
_Don’t look down, don’t look down..._  
  
A mantra for survival repeated in his head even as he clutched to the thick, powerful fingers that sealed once again around his body. The words being said by the human started to leak into his panic stricken brain, and Dean did his best to focus on something not related to heights.  
  
It wasn’t as easy as it seemed while he was so high up in the air.  
  
“ ‘What the hell?!’ ” Dean spat at the human in a voice wound up with fear for his position. “I think _I’m_ the one that should be saying that!” His grip tightened and his knuckles started to turn white. There was no taking those words back now.  
  
Jacob's eyebrows shot up at the sound of a voice piping up from the little guy he'd found, in full words and sentences. He couldn't help the fascinated grin that came over his face. The tiny man could _talk!_ Jacob might be able to ask him what was going on.  
  
"Fair enough, little guy," he answered with a chuckle. They had both been pretty surprised upon his return. He couldn't blame the whatever-this-was for snipping at him.  
  
Jacob noticed belatedly how tightly those absolutely minuscule arms were clinging to his fingers. Tiny hands that he almost couldn't even see scrabbled at his knuckles for some kind of secure purchase and found none no matter how hard the little guy tried.  
  
Jacob glanced down towards the floor. It was a hell of a drop for someone that fit in his hand. He put two and two together and a sheepish smile replaced his fascination for a second or two.  
  
He pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, leaning forward a little so that the hand around his small find wasn't suspended so high up. With that done, he loosened his grip a little, keeping the tiny man from writhing free and plummeting straight down, leaving a thumb and only two fingers pinning him to his palm.  
  
It was easier to see the miniature leather jacket and black tee, both well worn. The tiny man even had denim jeans on and what looked like leather boots. Jacob glanced aside to the little duffel he had discarded. He wondered where the leather all came from.  
  
The guy looked like a little biker or something. _Holy shit._  
  
Jacob's smile returned and he reached out with his free hand to brush his fingertips at the hem of the jacket, before finding one of the little arms and lightly pinching it between his finger and thumb. Jacob was amazed; those tiny fingers could practically press into the ridges of his fingerprints! One hand wasn't enough to cover even his pinky fingertip no matter how wide the guy spread his fingers.  
  
"Holy shit," Jacob echoed.  
  
This was no hallucination. This was real. He had actually found a tiny little man in his motel room. A _motel room,_ of all places, complete with broken down ice machine and shabby decorations. How in the world had the man even survived at a size like this?  
  
"Dude, what are you, some kinda borrower or something?"  
  
If looks could kill, Dean’s could have melted a hole in the door of the room. So far he’d been grabbed, held over six feet up in the air, called _little guy,_ and now called a borrower. The reference was one he remembered from childhood, about small people that lived in the walls. There was no way that he’d ever acknowledge even being _close_ to that. If this human figured out he lived in the walls, there would be nothing to stop him from searching for _more_ people. People like Sam, who was trapped in the room with them. People like Mallory and Walt, who’d saved their lives and raised them, despite it taking the resources they needed to survive and stretching them to the limit.  
  
This human clearly had strength on his side. Well more than enough to subdue everyone just trying to get by, living hidden in the motel’s walls. If he knew, he could go tearing right into the hidden passages to hunt down more people.  
  
There was no way Dean or Sam would ever put them at risk, and Dean would die before ever letting anyone know Sam even  _existed_. His little brother was all he had left, and that was more important than his own life a thousand times over.  
  
With panic and fear on the rise, his first instinct was to cover that terror up.  
  
And backtalk.  
  
Dean tried to rip his arm from the grip of the thick fingers. “What are you, some kind of Godzilla or something?” he mimed back without missing a beat. He didn’t let his fear show in his eyes. In a world that outsized him, all he had left to control was his own reactions, and he’d never let himself show weakness.  
  
Nothing he did could even budge his arm. It was held in place without the human even noticing his struggles. Dean growled, planting his free hand on one of the fingers and trying to push with all his might, leaning back and clenching his teeth, _anything_ to give himself extra leverage to pull free. Even the extra strength he’d gained after being downsized did him no good, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. He was pinned to a palm that was bigger than Sam’s nest of fabric in his own home, a hand that could close into a fist and hide Dean from view with room to spare. He’d have no way to even _try_ to stop the motion.  
  
But he wasn’t held six feet in the air anymore, so he could consider that progress. If he managed to effect an escape here, he wouldn’t end up plummeting to his death. If he had to shimmy down a table leg without his hook and thread, he’d get out of there.  
  
“Dammit, gigantor,” Dean snipped angrily. If he could just manage to get his free hand into his jacket, he could reach his knife. There might be a fighting chance of escape with that in hand. And he wouldn’t have to watch a human stare at him like the coolest toy on the block. “What part of ‘personal space’ do you not understand? Hands off the goods!” With the hand that was pinched between two fingers, he turned his wrist and flipped the bird, the only motion he had left to it.  
  
_Godzilla ... Gigantor ... and now he's flipping me the bird._ Jacob took stock of the little guy's reactions, and he could only chuckle again. The man was a bit of a firecracker, the way he slung around all those insults. His snark was amusing as all hell.  
  
Even so, Jacob released the little arm. He could see how much the teeny guy strained against being held, but Jacob didn't want to let him go just yet. He knew this was a bit selfish of him, but then again how often did someone meet a tiny snark machine sneaking around their room?  
  
It wasn't like he planned to hurt anyone, or even _keep_ the little guy. He would let him go, so Jacob excused his current fascination.  
  
Instead, Jacob brushed his fingertip over the little head of hair with a smirk. The tiny hairs, styled up in a casual spike befitting the leather jacket and jeans, were bedraggled after his touch, and he grinned apologetically. Since he only really got glares in return for his smiles, he had to hold back another snicker as the man begrudgingly tried to straighten the hair back to its spiked style.  
  
"Hey, man, you can relax a little bit. Nothing's gonna happen to you here," he said gently, aiming for a bit of a softer tone as he realized belatedly that his voice was probably pretty jarring for such a small pair of ears. The tiny man's voice was so soft compared to his own, like a stiff breeze could snatch it away.  
  
In an attempt to placate the little squirms and tiny withering looks, Jacob adjusted his grip. He still had the little guy several inches above the tabletop, but he moved his hands so they were cupped underneath him instead of restraining him. “That’s better, right?”  
  
Dean caught his balance in shock as the fingers unfolded from around him and found himself standing in the center of the largest hand he’d ever seen. His shoulders tensed, knowing this was his chance. It might be his _only_ chance, considering the sheer size of the human that had caught him. “Relax,” he reflexively spat back at the kid. “ _You_ try and relax when you’ve got grabby fingers all over you!”  
  
And what the hell did the guy mean with “nothing’s gonna happen to you?” Something already _had_ happened, and it was the worst thing he could think of unless it was Sam in his place. He was trapped, in a hand, and his hook was nowhere in sight. Even if he escaped the human he had three feet to climb down a thick pillar without any way to secure himself and all while _praying_ he didn’t get grabbed again.  
  
The human didn’t have to hurt him to ruin his life. That backpack sitting in the corner was more foreboding than ever, almost screaming to Dean how easy it would be to trap him inside and carry him away.  
  
Away from his home. Away from _Sam._  
  
Those thoughts plagued him as he slipped a hand into his jacket with a prayer.  
  
He’d have one chance for this to work.  
  
As Dean yanked his knife out of the hidden pocket in his leather jacket, he was already moving. A calm fell over his thoughts, the state of mind his father had told him was a battle-calm, used by warriors throughout history. It was the mark of someone that was prepared to fight. Fear would always exist. He might not be able to conquer it but he could _use_ it to fuel his desperate actions.  
  
The knife sliced into the finger closest to where he’d been left standing on the palm and he jumped off the side in one smooth motion. For the first time that day, the height was the furthest thing from his mind. When he landed he’d need to move, and move quickly. He couldn’t let his guard down for a second.  
  
Dean fell towards the tabletop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That time when Jacob says “you're fine" and Dean disagrees wholeheartedly.


	4. Escape Attempts and Coffee Pots

“ _Shit!_ ” Jacob hissed. The stinging in his finger almost distracted him as his cut was exposed to the air, and he instinctively drew the hand close even as the little guy leaped over the side.  
  
Unfortunately for Dean, Jacob had a free hand. He managed to slip it underneath the falling figure in a hasty motion, just barely catching him on his other palm. In order to prevent getting sliced up on both hands, he swiftly placed his other hand over the top of the little guy before he could haul himself to his feet and try another escape. The tiny man was caught in between his hands, not crushed but restrained enough to give him time to figure out what to do.  
  
“That was close,” Jacob muttered. All he could see in his mind's eye was the tiny guy twisting an ankle as soon as he hit the tabletop. He was already small; he didn’t need another disadvantage. Jacob couldn’t let something like that happen.  
  
“You coulda seriously messed up your legs just now!” he said insistently, not regretting his quick reaction in the least.  
  
He was struck by the fact that there was an entire living thing caught between his hands, struggling to get out. Tiny limbs strained angrily against his palms, completely out of sight. Muffled swears could be heard leaking out from between the cracks in his fingers. Jacob pursed his lips, unsure for a second what he should do.  
  
Once he made his decision, he put it into action. If he wasted time, he might end up with a matching cut on another finger, based on the amount of griping that came from between his hands. Moving quickly, he shifted his hands around the little guy so that his uninjured fist was wrapped around him again, and he caught the little knife hand between two fingers. That blade was so small but so _sharp._ Jacob wanted nothing to do with that again; a red line of blood glistened on his fingertip, still stinging.  
  
“C’mon,” he muttered, getting his finger and thumb pinched on the flat of the blade. It was delicate work, he realized, seeing that tiny hand clenched around the handle with a certain white-knuckled desperation. Jacob didn't want to break the little weapon or the hand holding it, but he didn't want to get sliced up either. It had to go, at least until he could calm the tiny man down.  
  
The man fought back against his motions with a growing desperation, but nothing could stop the knife from slowly being pulled free of his grip. Jacob could have sworn he could feel the small legs trying to push against the inside of his fist for leverage during the short tug-of-war. One that he would have won instantly if he wasn't doing his best to not hurt the little guy. Those fingers were  _tiny._

[Jacob and Dean by Wind-up Owl](http://rerak-sketchbook.tumblr.com/)

  
Once he managed to wrestle the knife free, he immediately set it down next to the tiny leather duffel bag for safe keeping. He stared with a faint frown at the cut on his finger before looking back at the little guy in his fist with a bemused look. “Gotta admit, I didn't see that coming. Where'd you even get a knife like that?” he asked.  
  
“What’s it to you?” Dean griped, still doing his best to struggle free of the constricting fingers wrapped all the way around him. “I don’t think they come in your size, Sasquatch!” The last thing he was going to do was open up to his _captor_ and go _Oh, hey. I made that as a test run for a present I wanted to make my little brother. Silver blade and all._  
  
His escape attempt had been foiled with a reflexive action, one that Dean begrudgingly knew he’d take if he was in the same situation. That didn’t change the way the fear had leapt up in his chest at the sight of the massive hand materializing under him out of nowhere as though it was conjured up by magic.  
  
But the human didn’t need any magic on his side. Dean was just too small to escape from such massive movements in time.  
  
Too small, too fragile, too _weak._  
  
All that was left free of the human’s grip aside from his head and shoulders was Dean’s right arm, the fingers still stinging from the force used to snatch away his knife. It was sobering to know that even that amount of power was only a small portion of the human’s actual strength. The brown eyes had been focused on the task like he was working with the most delicate figurine he’d ever held, and Dean knew that was probably true. He doubted the kid worked much with anything Dean’s size.  
  
Even a glass figure might be more durable than he was at his current stature. His bones were ridiculously thin compared to even the fingers that wrapped around him. He had a feeling the bones in that hand would outsize any bone in his body.  
  
Just his luck that he got captured by someone that’d probably make even John Winchester look small, something that scarcely seemed possible when Dean was normal sized and, even then, looked up to his father.  
  
Dean clenched his free hand into a fist, stubbornly bracing it against the human’s joint and trying to find some leverage to struggle free. “Son of a _bitch!_ ” he spat in annoyance, unable to budge his legs or his other arm, shoved harshly against his body and pinned there effortlessly.  
  
Jacob tilted his head slightly, observing the desperate struggling for a few seconds. The little guy really was trying his best, and he was amazed that he didn't really feel it for the most part. His hand was too callused or the tiny man was too small… It was probably a combination of the two. Jacob only got little traces of the squirming against his palm. Nothing more.  
  
He hesitated again, unsure of what to do. He really shouldn’t ignore how fast the little guy was breathing or how wide his tiny eyes were. But Jacob's curiosity just wouldn't let him open up his hand and let the entertaining little guy go free just yet. At least he didn't seem completely distraught. The sassy attitude was unavoidably funny.  
  
Jacob hoped maybe he could convince the little guy he didn't need to be afraid, but he was willing to admit that being stuck in a hand didn't help that. So, after glancing around the room, he found a solution that should work while he got to the bottom of this strange encounter.  
  
He stood up from his chair, holding the hand with his small passenger close to his chest for security, and made his way over to the kitchenette. The coffee machine had been untouched since he checked in, and the coffee pot was clean and empty.  
  
Jacob picked up the coffee pot, checking out the size for a second before nodding to himself. He carried it and Dean back to the table before pulling back the lid with his thumb. As he sat down, he lowered Dean towards the opening of the tilted container. No matter how hard the tiny guy struggled at the sight of the container, there was no way for him to really fight back as Jacob let him slide in and slowly righted it. Jacob's thumb let go of the spring loaded handle and it shut over the little guy, though the coffee pot was too tall for him to jump out of, anyway.  
  
“I'll letcha out later, okay?” Jacob promised, an earnest look in his eye as he peered in. He set the pot down as gently as he could, and rested his head on his arms to bring himself closer to the little guy's level.  “This is better than my hands, right?”  
  
The ominous sound of the spring loaded handle closing over the top of the coffee pot echoed around Dean in his glass confinement. The sound was nearly deafening and made the air itself quiver as the world was sealed off from him. He pulled himself to his feet, taking an uncertain moment to check out his prison.  
  
That’s what it was. A prison cell.  
  
Dean craned his neck back and stared up at the black plastic ceiling, feeling his size crash down on him all over again. He was trapped in a fucking _coffee pot,_ and it was so tall he couldn’t even _try_ to escape from it. The walls were too smooth and the ceiling too high to reach even without the top sealed shut. There was no escape, not without his hook and thread, lost to him now. The human seemed to have forgotten about them, too distracted with staring in at Dean.  
  
At least he could see his duffel and his bloodied dagger sitting on the edge of the table. Those would be recoverable, if there was a way out of this no-win situation he’d found himself in. _Kirk managed it,_ Dean reminded himself, fear summoning up memories of old science fiction, of all things.  
  
_Nothing’s impossible._  
  
He ignored the human peering in at him, running a hand up the side of the glass wall that surrounded him. Even that stretched over his head, and he could only be glad that it wasn’t likely the human would be cruel enough to let it fill with coffee.  
  
The glass was cool under his fingertips and he traced along the white measurement lines, noting that he almost stood level with where they ended.  
  
_I’m not even one full pot of coffee,_ Dean thought hopelessly.  
  
He slammed his fist into the glass wall. There was no give under his touch, but he swiftly followed it up with a second punch. Then a kick with the leather boots his adopted father had made him, wishing he could just smash through the container the same way he’d seen John Winchester smash through a door. He didn't even register the concerned words the human uttered as his attempts grew more desperate.  
  
Dean backed a few feet… _inches,_ he reminded himself… from the glass.  
  
And rammed into it for all he was worth.  
  
"Holy _shit!_ " Jacob blurted, flinching back in sheer surprise. He'd tried in vain to get the little guy's attention as he attacked the glass, but he hadn't anticipated a full-on charge right into the solid side of the coffee pot.  
  
His hands twitched as the little guy was, of course, stopped in his tracks and knocked back from the wall of glass. It was as thick as his tiny little arm; there was no way he was going to bust through it that way. But Jacob didn't want to take him right back out of the coffee pot if he was injured. Until he knew for sure, picking the tiny man up could hurt him worse.  
  
He ended up lowering his chin to the table with both hands braced on the edge, staring wide-eyed at the tiny man within. "Dude," he breathed, his eyes scanning over every one of Dean's few inches.  
  
At least he hadn't had room to pick up too much speed. That could have caused him to break his face right open on the glass. As it was, Jacob would be very impressed if he didn't have a bruise on his shoulder after that. "Are you ... did you hurt yourself? Jesus Christ, what did you do that for?!"  
  
Dean straightened, pushing himself up on his hands, and sent a withering glare up at the giant beyond the clear glass enclosure. Though he didn’t see much point in talking to the human, he had a feeling that the guy wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The echoing voice alone felt like it could overpower him as it rumbled in the air and rattled the glass.  
  
He pointedly stood and brushed off his leather jacket, trying to wipe away the feeling of being trapped inside grasping fingers. He did the same with his jeans, wishing for the reassuring feeling of a gun tucked into the back of his pants, just the way his dad had taught him to carry it back before being cursed.  
  
“Why do you _think_ I did it?” Dean growled at the human, his voice bouncing off the curved wall of glass he was stuck behind. He pointed up at the ceiling he couldn’t reach. “The next time I stick _you_ in a coffee pot like the morning brew, we’ll let you make the decisions.” He crossed his arms, prepared to do what it took to outlast the human. He’d never give away the others, and he was prepared to deal with the consequences for that decision.  
  
Jacob's eyebrows shot up yet again. He had to wonder where the little guy was keeping all that sass stored up, because it didn't look like it'd fit in his tiny frame. He pondered the snarky words while the little hands brushed at those tiny clothes. Every movement was so familiar, but in such a small miniature that Jacob could almost miss it if he wasn't looking right at the little guy.  
  
"Come on, man, I already _said_ I'd letcha out. No need to make such a big deal out of it when you're the one who was sneaking around in my room," he pointed out. "What were you--"  
  
His question was cut off as his eyes flitted to the white styrofoam takeout box still resting on the table.  
  
At first he simply had a disparaging thought that he'd left that out by mistake, but then he looked closer. The tab keeping it closed was sliced clean off. Jacob reached past the coffee pot to lift the lid a little, raising an eyebrow critically. He glanced back over at the knife he’d placed by the little duffel bag, and put it all together.  
  
"Thinkin' about taking off with some pie, were ya?" he said with a grin, picking up the box and leaning as far back in his chair as he could to slip it into the mini fridge. He straightened once more and leaned his chin on his hand, smirking down at the little guy.  
  
"Guess you're not as ninja as you were hoping."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What not to do with your Dean:
> 
> 1\. Take away his knife.
> 
> 2\. Take away his pie.
> 
> 3\. Put him in a coffee pot and expect him to quietly sit there.


	5. Jolly Green

Dean’s face was probably going to be stuck in a permanent scowl by the end of the day. Watching the arm stretch past his container was a sharp reminder of how far up shit’s creek he was with no paddle in sight. The damn arm _alone_ was taller than the coffee pot. A solid wall of muscle hidden behind the waves of fabric of the kid’s hoodie. This guy was friggin’ enormous for a human.  
  
The pie that led Dean there in the first place vanished into the depths of the mini-fridge, forever out of reach for anyone his size. The way the fridge was designed with the airtight seal rendered it beyond their ability to open. If they could ever find a way to get  _in_ , getting to the food itself would be child’s play. The hooks they used for climbing would catch on the shelves and railings of the fridge without a problem. Dean’s bag was bigger than Sam’s, and he used every bit of that space when they were out searching for supplies. If he could fill it with food that he knew went to waste in the motel’s mini refrigerators ...  
  
Dean stared back up at the human’s words, his face clouded. The entire reason he was in the room was now out of reach, and he realized it always had been. He’d put both himself and Sam at risk for it. The only shining light was Sam evading capture. If their roles were reversed, he’d never forgive himself.

[Artwork by iamthetwickster](http://lamthetwickster.tumblr.com/)

As he always did, Dean put his trademark snark to good use building a wall around his emotions. “If you didn’t go causing earthquakes with your big stomping feet, I wouldn’t _have_ to be a ninja,” he griped up at Jacob, letting years and years worth of resentment shine through in his tone with a convenient target for it in sight. His voice bounced back at him from the glass, only fueling his frustration. “ _You_ left the pie out, that made it fair game.”  
  
"Is that so," Jacob answered through a chuckle that he poorly concealed. It was very difficult for him not to find that teeny tiny glare and endless sass entertaining. Whoever this guy was, _whatever_ he was, he was funny. Jacob really hoped they could come around to some kind of understanding soon.  
  
Plus, he reasoned, so long as the guy wasn’t panicking, things couldn’t be _so_ bad. Jacob knew he was taking advantage of his size even now, but he never wanted to hurt anyone, just find out more about the tiny guy. Curiosity was understandable in a scenario like this one.  
  
He let his chuckles die down, though the smile remained in his eyes as he observed the little guy in a coffee pot. Small enough to fit in there, of all places, he looked like he was ready for a fight. Considering his size, Jacob thought he might be constantly wondering how such a little guy got so fiery.  
  
"I don't think I stomp _that_ much," he continued, amusement still lacing his tone. He checked under the table, eyeing his shoes for a second before glancing back at the little guy. His well-worn work boots were a lot bigger than the tiny man in the coffee pot. Maybe there was something to what he said after all.  
  
He leaned down again, hoping to at least keep the conversation going, because even endless waves of snark were bound to get them somewhere eventually. "But I'll remember that in the future when I'm walking. Maybe I'll even letcha take some pie later. For now ... what's your name? I'm Jacob."  


* * *

  
Sam ducked back behind the dresser, the tingle on the back of his neck warning him the moment the human started to lean over. His breathing quickened, praying that the guy didn’t catch sight of his tan jacket hiding in the dark shadows of the room. In the darkness was safety.  
  
Safety that was out of Dean’s reach at the moment, and that was why Sam _couldn’t_ leave. He’d never leave his brother behind, least of all to have his fate dealt to him by a giant teenager.  
  
The human, _Jacob,_ he now knew thanks to the introduction he'd overheard, was completely fixated on Dean. Getting back to the vent without being noticed wasn’t out of the question for Sam, and he knew it was likely what Dean would be banking on and why he was doing his damndest to keep the attention fixated on himself. But there was no way that Sam was going to abandon his older brother to the whims of some human teen, not while he was still out there and had a fighting chance at saving him.  
  
Dean’s hook was gone, but Sam’s, because of the way Dean always had them structure their supply runs, was still hanging out of his bag. The thick, three-pronged hook hung casually out, swinging against his side when he ducked back under the dresser.  
  
There might be something to all the contingency plans Dean spent his days dreaming up, the mind of a leader always occupied with building a better strategy.  
  
If they were still regular sized, Sam imagined he’d make an outstanding tactician. John and Bobby both had taught the eldest son about hunting from an early age, and tactics was a branch that Bobby, with his enormous library at their command, had stressed. It was more than just rushing in, guns blazing. After growing up small, both brothers understood all too well that patience could mean the difference between life and death.  
  
The one time Dean thought it’d be safe to be reckless, and it had gotten them here. It only took one mistake. Sam was determined for this mistake to not cost Dean any more than it already had.  
  
The sound of massive boots scraping against the ground preceded the tingle on the back of his neck vanishing.  
  
_For now._  
  
Holding his breath, Sam dared to lean out, wishing he could see more than intimidatingly large legs and boots. He wanted to know what was going on up on the table, but that was as out of reach as Dean was so long as this Jacob person was sitting there.  
  
He needed an opportunity.  


* * *

  
Dean cocked his head at the introduction, baffled by the way the human was insisting he’d be free to leave while here he was, a prisoner in a coffee pot. “Jacob?” he repeated after the kid’s words. “What, you don’t want to be known as Jolly Green?” The newest nickname brought another grin to the kid’s face. Dean’s best efforts barely stung the human.  
  
Hesitating for a long moment, Dean debated over whether he should answer Jacob’s question. If he thought about it, he didn’t have any reason to keep his identity hidden. He was just a guy trying to get by. No big secrets past the fact of his very existence. At least, none that a kid like Jacob would care about, curse be dammed.  
  
“My name’s Dean,” he answered begrudgingly. “Dean Winchester.”  
  
"Dean," Jacob repeated, committing it to memory. He offered Dean a smile, one less amused than before. Friendlier. He hoped it wouldn't backfire on him like everything else had with Dean, but then again the snarky comebacks and nicknames were hilarious.  
  
Still. Jacob couldn't shake the uncertainty that nagged at the back of his mind. It was the sort of thing that, if you didn't pay attention to it, you couldn't notice at all. Jacob knew that if he thought on it too much, he'd get himself all worked up.  
  
To delay the inevitable confrontation with his own thoughts on the matter of the sassy little Dean, Jacob sat up and glanced at the clock. "Listen, Dean, I only put you in there so you wouldn't go jumping off things or, y'know, slicing my hand open again," he explained. "I really don't wanna hurt you or anything."  
  
He could only see distrust on that little face, which of course he expected at that point. Dean was a resolved little guy. His determination was respectable, and his boldness was admirable, considering he wasn't even the length of Jacob's finger.  
  
Jacob sighed and offered Dean one more tentative smile. "I gotta run and make a call, real quick, but when I get back we can talk about the whole sneaking around and filching pie thing, alright?"  
  
With that, Jacob stood up, his chair scraping against the carpet as he did so. Dean's face dwindled as he stood, and Jacob felt that background thought rearing up again as he made his way to the door.  
  
Just a quick stop at the pay phone to let his parents know he was heading out of Kansas soon, and he could come back to see what he'd do about Dean.  


* * *

  
Dean watched as the human left, his eyes longingly observing the way the fresh air ruffled the curtains of the room, and the way natural light burst along the wall and ceiling by the door. There was only a small opening above his head for where the coffee would pour out, and it wasn’t enough to let the air cycle through the way the vents did in the motel rooms.  
  
Why the hell did the kid think Dean was going to _trust_ him? Trust was something that had to be _earned_ , and so far he’d captured Dean, taken away the supplies he needed to survive, and trapped him in a coffee pot. Dean was _completely helpless_ if anyone came into the room. It didn’t matter if it was Jacob or the maid. Dean wouldn’t be getting out of his imprisonment anytime soon without help.  
  
And for all he knew, that phone call would be about _him._ His blood chilled at the thought of more humans discovering people his size existed. The thought of Walt and Mallory trapped in a cage not much bigger than the coffee pot plagued him.  
  
“Fuck!” he snapped at the air, slamming a fist into the glass again. This time, instead of testing the limits of the container, he channeled all his frustration and rage into that hand, trying to work out as much emotion as he could. When Jacob came back, he needed to be at the top of his game.  
  
It would be all his fault if word got out about them. All for a slice of pie, and now his family was at risk.  
  
Dean took his hand back, shaking it out slightly as he sorrowfully watched the outside world. The knuckles were red and would probably show a bruise the next day, but they weren’t bleeding. If he was left on his own long enough, he was sure he’d get there from the frustration at how fucking _helpless_ he was to halt the events he'd thrown into motion. Their lives depended on what  _Jacob_ decided.  
  
A sound caught his attention from the other side of the table, and Dean squinted his eyes, trying to see what it was.  
  
He didn’t have to wait long.  
  
Sam dashed out from behind the belongings strewn haphazardly over part of the table, his hook and fishing line in hand. His hazel eyes were wide, darting towards the door every couple seconds as he ran towards his trapped older brother.  
  
“No, no, no, no!” Dean said, half moan, half shout. “Sam, what the hell are you thinking?! He could be back at any second! Get out of here!” He shoved against the glass, pantomiming the motion of shoving his younger brother away. “It’s too late for me! You’re only gonna get yourself caught!”  
  
Sam gave him a ghost of a smile that fled from his face in seconds. “I’m getting you out of here,” he shot back to his older brother. “Who else is there to haul your ass out of the fire all the time?”  
  
Dean huffed. “I’m _fine._ Never better. Now get out before he comes back! Who knows what he’ll do if he knows for sure that there’s more of us around! At least right now he thinks it's me and doesn’t suspect that you’re even in the room.”  
  
Sam just offered him a cocky grin and took a few steps back, ignoring Dean's demands. “You _owe_ me, jerk.”  
  
He tossed his hook at the lip of the coffee pot above their heads.  


* * *

  
"Yeah, mom, of course I made sure I got paid," Jacob said patiently into the pay phone on the corner near the _Trails West Motel._ Normally he wouldn't have to use a pay phone, but one of the first things he discovered about his room was that the phone in it was broken. It didn't take much to figure out that the desk clerk was not inclined to help with that. Or they just didn't know how. Jacob didn't push the issue. At least he had a bed to sleep on.  
  
"Yeah, Haven, Kansas. Probably just a day or two," he answered more questions on the other end of the line. Jacob did his best to keep in touch with his mom. He might be 18 and legally an adult, but he'd always been close with his family. "I know. Pretty quiet around here."  
  
"What'm I up to?" Jacob asked, raising his eyebrows.  
  
_Oh, not much, I'm just keeping a borrower prisoner in the coffee pot in my room._  
  
Jacob shook the thought from his head and frowned slightly. "Nothing, really. I got some papers and chips from the convenience store. I think a day or two of doing nothing sounds pretty nice, actually."  
  
His thoughts were distracted. He kept imagining Dean, the sassy little guy, throwing himself against the glass in desperation, or slicing at Jacob's hand and leaping over the side. He was completely and totally determined.  
  
Jacob wasn't nearly as determined to keep him trapped, and yet his own strength made that a moot point. Jacob was really beginning to question himself, and he wasn't fond of the answers he was coming up with.  
  
What did he really look like to Dean? Snarky nicknames and bold confidence aside, what did Dean actually see when he looked up at Jacob?  
  
He pushed the thoughts down and grinned. "Mom, I always check for jobs back in Iowa. It'd be great to find some work nearby so I don't have to pay rent, y'know," he answered. Her laughter was soft but he heard the hopeful undertone in it. She hadn't seen him in months. He should visit home soon.  
  
In the meantime, Jacob had something else clamoring for all of his attention. "Well, I'm gonna head out before my call runs out," he told her. "Yeah, love you too. Talk to you soon."  
  
He hung up and began a brisk walk back to his room. Jacob's hands were shoved in his hoodie pockets and he tried to work out what he would do when he got back. The short trip and his long legs didn't leave him enough time.  
  
It didn't matter, because when he turned the doorknob and entered the room once more, Jacob froze.  
  
There was _another one._  
  
Jacob's jaw dropped and he stepped towards the table almost in a daze. The door swung shut behind him, but he didn't even notice. He stopped in front of the table, staring in shock down at the _two_ tiny people on it, one inside the coffee pot and one outside.  
  
_Holy shit._  
  
Before he could even stop to consider the situation, Jacob's first reaction won out, and his hand shot towards the newcomer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^;
> 
> Well that went from bad to worse real quick.


	6. Out of Time

No time.  
  
There was never enough time.  
  
The door to the motel room swung open with an ominous, familiar squeal of old hinges only seconds after Sam managed to get his three-pronged hook lodged in the top of the coffee pot. He tugged at the line to test the catch, and then, before he could take his rescue mission any further, light was flooding over the table.  
  
“No, no, no, no…” Dean said, desperation winding up his voice and slowly squeezing his chest as the table shook under him. Yeah, Jacob _totally_ didn’t stomp around everywhere. “Sam, get out of here!”  
  
It didn’t matter.  
  
Sam didn’t even have time to pull out his knife before a hand was closing over him. The fact that he was taller than Dean meant nothing to that massive hand, thick fingers sweeping his feet out from under him. He almost disappeared from sight completely, and the thought of the _danger_ he was in shot panic through Dean faster than a bolt of lightning.  
  
“No!”  
  
Jacob, his train of thought momentarily derailed, scooped the new tiny person effortlessly off the table. With the tiny arms and legs pinned irrevocably in his fist, he held the man up before his face, staring openly. The second miniature person he'd seen in an hour or two looked a little bit bulkier than Dean. His brown hair was a bit longer and it shifted more as he twisted and struggled in Jacob's grasp. He didn't wear a leather jacket like Dean, but a tan cloth one. A small grey t-shirt could just be made out under the jacket during his desperate thrashing.  
  
This confirmed that there were more of them, not that Jacob was planning on doing anything with that information. It made him wonder if there were a lot in this motel, or any motel he'd stayed in before. Hell, there could be miniature people living hidden in the walls of his house back in Iowa for all he knew.  
  
He glanced down at the coffee pot and saw that another hook was latched onto the edge of it. _A rescue attempt ..._ he realized, his brow furrowing a little.  
  
Jacob looked back at the man in his hand, and now if he really thought about it he could feel the tiny squirms against his fingers and palm. The guy was barely four inches tall, no bigger, and he was putting everything he had into breaking out of Jacob's reactionary grab, just like Dean before him.   
  
"What the hell is going on here," Jacob muttered.  
  
Sam froze for a moment as the sound of the powerful voice rumbled around him, fear temporarily overriding his struggles. He could feel the deep baritone in his core. He wasn’t as good as Dean at suppressing his fear, but he did what he could.  
  
A few more minutes, and they’d have escaped the room without a trace! “Dammit…” he said, trying to twist his pinned arms free.  
  
 _So close…_  
  


* * *

  
Dean's hands were shaking against the glass as he stared up at the scene unfolding before him. Sam, trapped in a hand with only his shoulders and head visible as he did everything he could to escape. There was no progress whatsoever. Every movement was as useless as they’d been for Dean in that situation. Neither brother could do anything as the human’s brow furrowed, his look growing in intensity and sending a spike of raw, icy fear through Dean’s stomach.  
  
They were helpless compared to Jacob.  
  
And now Sam was trapped.  
  
 _No, please, not Sammy… he's all I have left..._  
  
Tears threatened to break through the façade he'd built up around himself. He'd built up walls to protect himself from how his world had changed. Sam was all he had left in the world. Nothing else mattered. Not the false life he'd built up, not the empty hopes and dreams that their father would return and find them, not even the prayer that one day they'd return to normal.  
  
Without Sam, _everything_ was meaningless.  
  
His emotions finally broke free with a single, blurted word. “Please,” Dean pleaded to the human holding his brother captive. His voice echoed strangely in his prison, highlighting what little space he had to himself.   
  
_Fucking coffee pot._  
  
“Not Sammy. You've got me already. I'll stop fighting, I promise. I'll do anything. Just let my little brother go. He doesn't deserve this. It's _my_ fault. I'm the one who had the stupid plan to get pie.” His fingers clenched, the nails scraping painfully against the rough glass. If he could break his gaze from the human he would have hung his head, ashamed at the words that escaped him. To be reduced to _begging..._   
  
Every fiber in him screamed against it.  
  
 _But… Sam..._  
  
Enraged by his own helplessness, Dean slammed a fist into the glass before slumping down against it.  
  
What use was he if he couldn't even protect his little brother?  
  


* * *

  
Jacob stared past the man in his hand at Dean, eyes wide and lips parted slightly in shock. It took a few seconds for the actual words to filter into his head, and then he was hit by a sharp feeling of guilt. The pleading tone, the dejected slump against the glass ... they hit like a freight train even if Dean couldn't physically hit him with much force.  
  
Jacob glanced back at the new person he'd caught. It was Dean's little brother, and Dean was _terrified_ for him. Jacob clenched his jaw as he realized with a painful clarity what he'd really done.  
  
All his attempts to be friendly didn't matter now. This was Dean's family and Jacob had him helplessly trapped in one hand. Dean couldn't do anything to stop it, had no control over what happened to his little brother. Looking down, Jacob thought about what he must look like to someone looking _up._  
  
 _Godzilla_ filtered back into his head in Dean's snarky voice. The monumental level of sass had completely shattered the moment Jacob picked up this 'Sammy.' Jacob had been amused and impressed by Dean's boldness. It was admirable really, to stand up against someone so much bigger without flinching.  
  
All that was gone without a trace. Because of Jacob.  
  
"Fuck," he whispered. He'd messed up. Bad.  
  
"I'm sorry," he murmured, barely making any sound at all. He lowered his hand to the table again and opened his fingers so his most recent captive could be on solid ground again. The small man caught his balance on the table with a teetering stumble, glancing towards his older brother with a face of shock. Dean had his hands against the glass again, braced against the curved wall. His eyes shone with desperation and a glimmer of hope.  
  
Seeing the looks on their faces, Jacob almost grimaced. He’d reacted so quickly. He'd forgotten that he'd returned to the room intending to go ahead and let Dean out of the coffee pot and instead he'd terrified them _both._  
  
It wasn't too late for that, at least. After making sure he hadn't squeezed the younger of the two tiny people too hard, Jacob reached past him to grab the coffee pot.  
  
Sam was still pumped full of adrenaline, processing what had just happened. The last thing either brother would have ever expected in this situation would be to be let _go_ after a human had claimed them.   
  
Then Sam saw something huge moving in his peripheral vision. He twisted in place and jumped back instinctively, his own knife out in a flash.  
  
The hand that had so recently ignored his every struggle was moving towards Dean.  
  
“Leave him alone!” Sam cried out, his mind clearing instantly at the sight of the imminent threat. He tossed himself at the huge hand and slashed down with his knife. All he knew was Dean needed help, and it didn’t matter how big his enemy was.   
  
His aim true, the silver knife bit into the thick skin.  
  
Jacob hissed and flinched his hand back, nearly taking the knife with him. The surprise slash at his hand was entirely unexpected, and the sting was more intense than Dean’s panicked attack. He lifted his hand and stared, utterly perplexed, at the cut near the base of his thumb. Blood was seeping out of it.  
  
He couldn't begin to understand just _why_ Sam had done it, but Jacob was hard pressed to say he didn't _earn_ it. He flexed his fingers experimentally. At least it wasn't that bad. He turned his attention back to the two on the table, well below his prodigious height.  
  
With a sigh, Jacob knelt down carefully with one hand braced on the edge of the table. He still had to look down at them, but his shadow wasn't as all-encompassing from there. He’d never really noticed how much space his shadow could cover until he saw how it eclipsed the two small men completely.  
  
Keeping his hand well out of the way of the riled-up little guy, Jacob said, "I was just gonna let him out of there." He glanced over at the coffee pot again.  
  
There was no way Dean was getting out on his own; that was why Jacob had put him in there in the first place. He was regretting it now, and he hoped that was conveyed on his face. Still, he waited to reach out again, waiting for a sign to go ahead.  
  
Sam held up his knife defensively in front of him, staring at the human in confusion. The earnest look on the billboard-sized face threw him off. He was prepared to go down fighting, but instead the human had backed off, looking at _Sam_ for the go-ahead.  
  
“As long as that’s _all_ you do,” Sam said grimly, understanding all too well that if Jacob changed his mind, there wasn’t much he could actually do to stop him. He’d be prepared anyway, the adrenaline surging through him keeping him on edge and ready to lash out at a single wrong move. This time, if Jacob grabbed at him, he’d be ready to attack.  
  
The venom and determination in the little voice and on the tiny face made Jacob pause again. He glanced at the knife held at the ready, and he knew for certain that it would be used on him in a heartbeat. Jacob also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could _take_ that knife away, and suddenly felt completely ashamed for having done exactly that to Dean.  
  
These two didn't really have any defense against him, but they were trying their best. He was too big for most _humans_ to defend against very easily, yet here they were, standing up to him in spite of all their obvious shortcomings. Jacob sighed faintly and nodded to show that he really only had one motive.  
  
He reached out again, cautious in case he needed to draw back out of range of that knife. He got his hand around the handle of the coffee pot. His thumb drew back the lid, and he slowly tilted the glass container. He tried to move it steadily enough for Dean to follow as it tilted without tumbling over.  
  
Dean almost tumbled anyway, just barely keeping his feet as the clear glass prison tilted around him. The distortion from the glass moved, making it feel like he was tripping on drugs as he instinctively sought out his brother’s form to make sure he was okay.  
  
The slope beneath him shifted under Jacob’s control until it was suddenly level with the ground, suspended in midair only about an inch. It swayed as it came to a stop, a motion hardly noticeable to Jacob tossing Dean off balance on the curved surface. He caught himself on both hands, staring through the suspended glass barrier at the nicked wood below.  
  
Remembering himself, Dean scrambled to his feet and booked it for the entrance before the human could change his mind and close the opening over him again. There was a palpable relief in the air when he dove out of the coffee pot. The outside world was cooler than the air inside the coffee pot, warmed from his impatient pacing and constant arguing in the sealed-off space.  
  
As Dean took a breath of what freedom he’d found, Sam ran over to him, catching one of his arms in a hand. “Dean, are you hurt?” he asked insistently, bursting with concern after being subjected to listening to Dean’s battle of wits with the human, including his fruitless attacks with the knife and against the glass container. He saw Dean’s fist, slowly starting to bruise from the angry punches. Sam sighed. “That could have been worse.”  
  
“Ain’t over yet,” Dean reminded him and both brothers sent a wary glance towards the human kneeling at the edge of the table near them. They were well within arm's reach.  
  
Jacob set the coffee pot down and drew his hand back. He watched them for a second longer before realizing they'd all gotten into a staring match with each other. He averted his gaze, and his eyes fell on the tiny duffel and knife where he'd left them.  
  
"Ah, right," he muttered, leaning back from the table a little to scan the floor. He found what he was looking for and leaned down to pick it up, partially disappearing from their view for a brief moment with one hand gripping the edge of the table for balance.  
  
When he straightened again, he had a hook pinched in his fingers with black thread trailing from it. He'd mostly ignored the fallen hook and string after trapping Dean, but now he recognized it for what it was; Dean needed that to get around. Without it, he could be stranded on the table.  
  
"Here's that," he said, holding the hook out towards Dean while nudging the other items along the table with the back of his other hand. He wouldn't be able to pinch that tiny knife in his big fingers, so he didn't even try. There was no sense taking the risk of bending it or breaking the blade from the handle while there was another option at hand. The duffel could push it along without damaging it.  
  
Dean took a few steps towards the hand while Sam stiffened behind him. He gave a sharp movement with his own hand, telling Sam to wait. The atmosphere of the room was different now with the way Jacob’s shoulders hunched with regret, and Dean wanted to see how far they could go. If he was right, they might actually get back into the walls together. He’d always been good at reading people, and now he had an extra advantage, being able to see all the details a human couldn’t notice. Without the wall of glass between him and the human, he could see the regret shining in those big brown eyes.  
  
When he was close enough, he shot a hand out and snatched the hook back from the fingertips, winding up the thread by second nature even as he hopped back to give himself space. If the hand came at him, he wanted time to react.  
  
Dean planted his boots firmly on the wooden surface, standing straight as he watched his duffel and knife get nudged towards himself. His face was expressionless as he saw the method used to get the knife moving, deciding that as long as it was in one piece, he could forgive the way he got it back. At least it hadn’t been damaged when Jacob took it in the first place.  
  
The matching knives were everything to the Winchester brothers, and there would be no way to replace them if they got broken or lost. They’d have to find a different way to defend themselves, like Walt’s razor.  
  
While he waited for the duffel, Dean crossed his arms. His hook hung from his grasp. He glanced back up at Jacob. “After all that, why the change?”  
  
Sam could just barely be heard behind him muttering, “Didn’t you ever hear about gift horses and mouths?”  
  
Jacob froze, the duffel and knife coming to a halt. The question wasn't exactly out of place or unexpected, but all the same he'd been hoping it wouldn't come up. He wasn't sure himself what his thought process had been this whole time. He hesitantly drew his hands back, with the duffel still several inches away from its owner.  
  
Unsure of what to do with his hands instead, Jacob lightly settled them on the edge of the table, barely gripping the wood as he considered the two small men.  
  
"It just ... I dunno," he tried, his voice quiet and confused. Jacob brushed a hand back through his brown hair, messing it up a bit and not really caring. "You were really snarky before and then you changed, I guess.”  
  
Before, when it was simply a battle of stubbornness versus stubbornness with Dean, Jacob had been amused. It was entertaining to see what kind of slings the man could come up with, knowing it was harmless.   
  
Or at least _thinking_ it was harmless.  
  
Grabbing Dean's younger brother like that had flipped a switch, and had helped to jar the human right out of his thought process. Jacob was a threat, whether he intended to be or not. The fear that had come out in Dean's pleas for his younger brother continued to haunt him. Dean sounded so afraid...  
  
"It kinda helped me realize that all this was really ... shitty of me. I wish I'd reacted a little better."  
  
Dean nodded at that as he listened, his eyes thoughtful as he considered the human before him. He tossed a look over his shoulder to check on Sam and saw that his younger brother already had his own hook back in hand, wrapping it around his arm while he waited, eyeing up Jacob with suspicion.  
  
Glancing back at Jacob, Dean saw that the kid wasn’t moving. He strode forward to reclaim his duffel and knife and knelt down next to them. He grimaced at the blood on the blade, but tucked it back into his jacket anyway. He didn’t have anything on hand to clean it here. When he got back to his home, and it felt good to think _when_ instead of _if,_ especially with Sam around and therefore at risk, he’d carefully go over every millimeter of his small blade and Sam’s both.  
  
Dean slung his duffel over his shoulder, meeting Jacob’s eyes with a steady stare instead of the glare he’d had on his face before. “I think it’s time for us to go,” he stated cautiously, waiting to see what the human’s reaction would be to his declaration.  
  
Jacob really couldn't help the fascination that made it back onto his face amidst the shame. The pair coiled up their climbing ropes, shuffled their tiny boots, and Dean picked up his bag, all very familiar and mundane motions. Except that they were _tiny._  
  
Now he could see that he'd really messed up his chances of finding out more about them. He didn't really deserve to ask them any more questions, and he should have seen that from the moment he grabbed Dean off his climbing string.   
  
Dean might be small, but he was still a person, and Jacob was palled with himself for not making that distinction sooner.  
  
"Uh. Right. Yeah, of course," he answered, glancing over to Sam and then back to Dean. "Sorry ... about, uh, everything," he added.  
  
Jacob's eyes drifted over to the table, where small shreds of styrofoam littered the surface. "I'll just stay right here. And if you still wanted that pie, it's yours. You kinda earned it."  
  
Dean sent a look of longing towards the mini-fridge, and Sam snagged his arm. He’d managed to sneak up behind his older brother while the human talked.   
  
“Don’t even _think_ about it,” Sam muttered to Dean. He gave Jacob a halting, hesitant wave, with no clear idea how he was supposed to act around the human. “Not after everything we just went through. We’ve pressed our luck enough.”  
  
Hefting a huge sigh, Dean let himself be pulled away. “ _Pie,_ Sammy! That might be our only chance!”  
  
Sam didn’t cave, and Dean finally came of his own accord. One brother kept an eye on Jacob while the other lead the way to the far edge of the table, falling seamlessly into their standard teamwork. Once they both arrived, Dean lodged his hook into a crack and stepped back to let Sam lead like normal.  
  
Sam jabbed him in the arm. “No way. This time, _you’re_ going first, mister afraid-of-heights.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes with a groan. “I’m _not_ that bad! I did _fine_ earlier.” It wasn’t his fault Jacob was so much faster than they could ever be.  
  
“It was your idea to go one at a time, so this time you’re leading. That way _I_ can keep an eye on _you_ for once.” Sam lowered his voice. “Dean, we both know if anything _else_ goes wrong, I’ll be able to get off the table a hell of a lot faster. So, for me?”  
  
For an answer, Dean grabbed his thread and swung off. Mutterings could be heard as he made his way down from the tabletop. “Can’t even get my pie after all that.”  
  
Sam waited silently, watching Jacob from the edge and acting the sentinel. When he saw Dean hit the ground at last, he swung off the table and dropped speedily to the ground in one fluid motion.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob hesitated, and then settled where he sat, giving himself a chance to not-so-surreptitiously watch their progress on the other side of the table. He didn't make any other moves, well aware that he'd get them riled up again if he looked threatening.  
  
A disheartening thought struck him. _How can I ever not look threatening._ He was so much bigger than they were, it bordered on ridiculous. If he found himself that size, he'd be freaking the hell out, to put it mildly.  
  
Their muttered conversation teased the edge of his hearing. Jacob wondered what they talked about, with the younger brother almost herding the older brother away, but every second saw his chances of learning anything more dwindling away.   
  
His mind was made up.   
  
They didn't owe him any answers at all. Excuses and bargaining never made it farther than musings in his head.  
  
Jacob considered moving to a chair to get out of their way, but he was frozen. He didn't want to send them into some kind of panic now, after he'd managed to at least get them calm. He remained on the floor, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets to keep them out of sight.  
  


* * *

  
As soon as Sam touched ground, he flicked his wrist in a practiced motion. The hook came free, dropping swiftly towards the pair of cursed brothers. Dean was the one to catch it, winding it once more around his arm as he started off, leading the way across the long expanse of the floor. With a human in the room and watching them, Sam was the one to take the back. His ability to know when he was in danger or being observed would help give him an edge if Jacob tried anything.  
  
Dean was doubting he _would_ , but their experiences just that day alone told him to take no chances.  
  
Being trapped in a hand was far more confining and constricting than he’d ever realized. This was the first time that either brother had been caught out on a table like that, drilling home exactly how much size the pair had lost. Sam’s extra height on his older brother did nothing to help them, and nor did their extra strength. The only thing that had helped them had been Jacob’s startling turnaround after he’d grabbed Sam. Whatever his reasons were, they were the only thing that had gotten Dean out of that damn coffee pot.  
  
The shadow under the bed beckoned them as Dean reached the threshold at last. He paused at the protective edge, knowing it would be harder for them to get caught in the enclosed area. Sam caught up, darting by. Dean cast one last appraising look towards Jacob and one last longing glance at the mini-fridge before following his little brother towards the vent positioned a foot away from the bed.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob released a breath when the two miniature brothers, their postures still tense and wary, vanished under the bed. He was tempted to lean over and watch their progress to find out where they'd go, but after everything, he really didn't want to be an asshole anymore. He didn't take any further chances of alienating them.  
  
He waited a long time, stewing in his thoughts while sitting on the floor on his knees. Eventually, he had to shift positions to spare his knees the strain. He ended up sitting with his back leaned against the bed, staring at the ceiling.  
  
Tiny people with tiny knives and tiny bags and tiny grappling hooks _existed._ If it was just Dean, Jacob might believe he'd somehow managed to dream the whole thing up. But he'd met two of them today, and had made an abysmal first impression.  
  
Jacob sighed, wondering how he could have done it all differently. He doubted that his curiosity would have let him just set Dean loose right away. He was at least glad that he hadn't hurt the little guy even during all the escape attempts. It had to be hard to get by at their size already, what if he made it so they couldn't survive?  
  
At length, Jacob figured he had waited long enough for the two of them to scamper off to wherever they were going to hide, and he stood up. He moved his forgotten convenience store bag to the table, retrieving the bag of chips and flopping onto the bed to watch some TV. He'd get started on his job search the next day.  
  
He had a million things to think about before then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there was ever a chapter of feels, this is it...


	7. Bad Plans and Second Chances

Dean practically collapsed against the wall of the vent as soon as they were inside, the adrenaline from the last hours making his legs shake. Sam slid down next to him, staring towards the opening of the vent. Cold metal propped them up while they let the adrenaline from the scare leave them.  
  
They sat in silence like that for a few minutes, listening to the sounds from the room beyond. It took time before the human started moving again, but Sam never rubbed at his neck so Dean took that to mean that Jacob wasn’t glancing their way or searching for where they went. An earth rattling shake came as the human got on the bed, jarring the two brothers where they sat slumped.  
  
“Well,” Dean said, breaking the silence that stretched between them. “That didn’t all go to plan, did it?”  
  
Sam shot him a scathing glare. “Ya think?” he shot back. Then, he sighed. “At least that’s over with. We’ll just have to avoid that room until he’s gone.”  
  
“Yeah…” Dean trailed off, remembering Jacob’s final offer of pie and the regret in the human’s demeanor at the end. Jacob had seemed pretty sincere...  
  
Sam caught his eye. “Dean, _no._ Whatever you’re thinking, no more tries for pie. We’ll run through some other rooms tomorrow. _Safer_ rooms where they don't know we exist.” He hauled himself to his feet, holding a hand out for his older brother. “After I stop in at home and make sure mom and dad know I’m still alive.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes as he accepted the help. “What do they think I’m gonna do? You’re always _fine_ when you come visit.”  
  
He got a weird glance in return. “Dean, you just spent the last hour in a _coffee pot_. If they find out about that, we’ll never hear the end of it.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean said stubbornly, setting off towards his home in the walls.  
  


* * *

  
The next morning dawned slowly in the hidden, dusty passages within the walls of the motel. Dean gave a luxurious stretch, yawning in the cool morning air. With summer still ahead of them, the warmth of the day hadn’t had time to reach the inside of the walls where he lived.  
  
He sat up, pushing off some of the fabric that made up his nest to sleep on. Sam was still gone, having stayed the night with their adopted family to reassure them that yes, he was in one piece, and no, Dean hadn’t gotten himself in trouble yet.  
  
A thought occurred to Dean as he absently walked out of his room, passing by the empty room where Sam stayed when he visited. He brushed a hand through his hair, trying to fix the morning bedhead in favor of his usual spike.  
  
When the thought hadn’t left him after he finished getting ready for the day, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and another black tee (he had more black shirts than any other color because it made it easy for him to blend into the shadows), he was beginning to consider it.  
  
Sam was out, so it would be easy to slip away. Jacob _had_ offered the pie, after all.  
  
The leather jacket and his durable leather boots finished off his outfit. Dean gathered up his knife, admiring the silver gleam in what dim morning light made it into his home. After returning the day before, he’d assiduously cleaned both weapons, pausing to sharpen up Sam’s before he finished. His little brother needed to take better care of his only weapon.  
  
Dean absently brushed his amulet with a hand, touching the cool metal. It was better he go before Sam got back. He didn’t want to risk Sam following again and getting into any more trouble.  
  
He snagged his duffel on the way out.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob thought he'd treat himself a little, and didn’t set an alarm for the morning, but his body was so used to being awake early anyway. He lay in his bed for nearly an hour before standing up to shuffle around the room, getting ready for a day of job searching. He had enough newspapers that he didn't think it'd be a problem, but it would be tedious work all the same.  
  
About halfway through his morning routine, he couldn't hold his real concerns at bay any longer. He found himself wondering after Dean and his little brother. They had disappeared under the bed and Jacob had resolutely not tried to see how they left the room.  
  
But that meant he was curious as hell now.  
  
The tiny little people had looked so terrified of him. Dean had sounded near tears when he grabbed Sam. It painted a picture of himself, and Jacob didn't like what it conveyed.  
  
If he could make up for it somehow, he'd do it, but he didn't expect to ever see them again after their cautious exit. So, when he pulled a hoodie over his head and brushed his hands back and forth through his hair after a quick shower, he did his best to put them out of mind. They were gone and he might as well have imagined the whole thing. He could say the cuts on his hand were from anything.  
  
After a quick run for breakfast, Jacob came back to his room and set up his newspapers on the table. He leaned over them on one elbow, a pen in the other hand. Want ads for various odd jobs got circled or crossed out as he worked, lightly tapping each printed word as he read them.  
  


* * *

  
Getting across the room was child’s play.  
  
Dean was almost surprised he’d ever been caught by the human the day before. Jacob was completely enthralled in what he was working on, missing the entrance of the small man from his vent. Instead of going under the bed this time, which would mean he would need to cross the floor directly next to where Jacob was sitting, Dean hugged the wall and made his way towards the dresser.  
  
Going around the circumference of the room nearly tripled the length of his journey, but Dean resolutely did _not_ want to be caught in the center of the floor if the human decided to walk around. Jacob might have changed his tune the day before, but his sheer size would always render him a danger to people like Dean. His boots alone looked longer than the Impala had in Dean’s childhood, and with far more strength to crush with if they landed on him, accident or not.  
  
Not once did Jacob react as he passed in front of the towering door, inordinately glad that the deadbolt was in place. If anyone outside wanted in, Jacob would have to let them in, making the passage safer for Dean.  
  
He ducked under the dresser, hunching over as he ran through the dark and dustbunny infested field. It had been years since the dust had bothered him or Sam. At a motel like _Trails West,_ where the cleaning crew wasn’t top notch, it was simply a fact of life. If anything, the piles of lint and dust helped hide them even better.  
  
Dean glanced towards the massive human’s boots as he came back out into the light. They were motionless as Jacob worked steadily at whatever he was doing above. Dean eyed up the edge of the table, drawing his hook out of his bag and uncoiling the thread. With careful aim, he tossed it up with a powerful throw and watched it catch on the edge. He tugged at it, making sure it wasn’t going to slip before he began his ascent.  
  
He scaled up the table faster than normal, his unconscious mind driving him up with a reminder of the way he’d been so easily snatched from midair the day before. His efforts to avoid it had gotten him nowhere, and it resulted in one of the closest scares of his cursed life. If Sam ever found out he was back in the room, he’d never hear the end of it.  
  
Never.  
  
Dean reached the top, leaving the hook in place in case he needed a quick getaway. It was odd to not have Sam backing him up with an extra hook if his fell. He double-checked that it was properly secured before walking towards the belongings that blocked him from the human’s sight.  
  
Reaching the final edge before he’d be in sight, Dean paused to take a deep breath. The day before, this human had been an enemy, plain and simple. After the end, with Jacob’s startling turnaround, Dean didn’t know what to call him. He'd need to be confident and prepared for anything.  
  
It was the only way to survive.  
  
Resolute, he strolled out from behind cover with a confident swagger, walking right onto the newspaper that Jacob was hunched over, his pen tapping steadily on the surface.  
  
Even the damn _pen_ was longer than Dean was tall.  
  
“So, that offer for pie still on the table?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think Sam is going to be happy to find your home empty, Dean...
> 
> Not happy at all.
> 
> Meanwhile, Dean is like _Pie, pls._
> 
> Next: Coming May 31st at 9pm est.
> 
> Comments and kudos welcome!


	8. A Ray of Hope

The quiet voice piping up with a confident, casual cadence jolted Jacob right out of his work, and he nearly flinched. As it was, he only tensed for a brief moment and glanced up from the ad he was reading. His eyes widened at the sight of Dean Winchester, the tiny man from the day before, swaggering across his newspaper like he owned the place.  
  
_Holy shit. He's real. Holy shit. And he's back after everything._  
  
Jacob's thoughts were going a mile a minute, utterly surprised to find his former captive back in the room. Within reach, even, if Jacob were to lunge for him quickly.  
  
That wasn't going to happen ever again if Jacob had his way. He sat up straight, moving slowly, and set his pen down to the side. Reining in his thoughts, he managed a reply. "Guess you _are_ pretty ninja after all," he admitted with a sheepish flash of a smile, remembering his teasing comment from the day before.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder at the mini fridge. "The pie is still fair game," he said. Before he moved to get it, he looked back to stare for a second at Dean, amazed that the tiny person was actually back. He'd returned on his own, even after his short but stressful captivity. Jacob would be lying if he said he wasn't a little hopeful and happy about it.  
  
Maybe he was being offered a second chance.  
  
"You want me to nuke it or anything?"  
  
Dean came to a halt next to the want ads, surveying the pen-marked paper around him with as much of a casual air as he could conjure up while standing in the shadow of an immense human. He tucked his hands in his pockets and tilted his head back to defiantly meet Jacob in the eye. He would accept no less than being seen as an equal, even by a kid who was just about the size of a mountain.  
  
“I wouldn’t be against it,” Dean answered, a smile quirking at his lips. The thought of warm food for the first time in over half his life gave him brief hope. This wasn’t going as bad as the day before, and he might actually get some pie out of the deal to boot. He was optimistic for the latter, remembering the trace of sweet aroma he’d gotten yesterday before he had to run.  
  
Now all he needed was for Sam to stay at Walt and Mallory’s for just another hour. Just long enough for some pie.  
  
Was that too much to ask?  
  
Jacob nodded, still absolutely awestruck that Dean was _right there_. "Right, okay," he muttered. He pushed himself back from the table and stood, noting that he really shot up into the air when he did, so much higher than Dean stood. It didn't usually bother him. He'd been a tall guy for a long time.  
  
This was, obviously, different. It was weird to watch an entire person dwindle away like that, just because he stood up. Jacob tried not to dwell on it as he turned to the kitchen area, retrieving the pie from the mini fridge as he went.  
  
He moved it from its foam container to one of the plates, noting that it had crumbled a bit since he originally brought it back from the diner. It didn't change much; after he ran it through the microwave for a minute, it smelled just as good as it did before. The apple and cinnamon aroma filled the room, battling the faint scent of cigarettes that had lingered from a previous tenant.  
  
Jacob eyed the plate critically as he brought it back over to the table. The whole pile of warmed-up food was a lot bigger than Dean. He didn't mind giving it up, not in the least, but he did have to wonder how much of it the little guy could put away in one sitting. His curiosity was running as high as ever.  
  
He sat down at the table and set the plate next to Dean, giving him a few inches of space so he wasn't crowded. "There's that," he murmured, taking his hand back so he could fold his arms on the table. "I don't have a fork for ya. Sorry."  
  
“Kid, if you have a fork my size, we might have somethin’ else to worry about,” Dean said with a smirk, trying to imagine the massive guy in front of him in a store for dollhouse items. He would stand out, to say the least. A fork small enough to suit Dean would be like a speck in his huge hands.  
  
Of course, if _Dean_ went into a store like that, he’d be mistaken for a doll, so he wasn’t one to judge.  
  
Dropping his duffel down next to the plate, Dean knelt down to undo the buckle that held down the flap over the opening. Inside, he had sheets of aluminum foil. The thick metal was easily molded to their daily needs, and whenever he or Sam chanced a trip to the kitchen, it was one of the most sought after supplies. More than once, Dean tracked it down hidden in the counters where normally they might have given up and gone home.  
  
Removing one of the strips, Dean folded it down to form a plate his size. For utensils, his knife would have to work. He slipped it out of the hidden pocket in his leather jacket, the silver catching the soft light of the motel room.  
  
Dean sliced off a piece of the tip of the pie, getting crust and filling in equal amounts. He took a seat on the edge of the plate, grinning down at the warm, gooey prize he’d sought after for so long. “Man,” he said to Jacob. “You have no idea how long it’s been since I had some pie!”  
  
Jacob had to grin at the simple happiness that had crept into Dean’s voice. He shifted so that he rested his chin on his crossed arms, a mostly failed attempt to not be so much taller than Dean. The little guy was just so small ... not that Jacob was keen to go pointing that out again.  
  
He'd already dug himself a hole deep enough to live in.  
  
"I guess it makes sense ... Most people wouldn't just leave it out," he replied, glad that there was at least a somewhat normal conversation option for him. Considering he was talking to someone who couldn't even reach four inches tall.  
  
The size clearly didn't stop Dean. He hadn't even hesitated to put together a plate for himself, going through the motions like he did them most every day. Jacob wondered if he lived his whole life out of that miniature duffel bag, or if he had a place to stash his stuff and rest his head.  
  
“I think I was fourteen,” Dean mused to himself as he cut off a piece of his pie with the assiduously sharpened blade of his prized knife. He inhaled the aroma, letting himself smile for real for the first time since his capture the day before. He’d put on a brave face for Sam after they’d escaped the room, but it had rattled him more than he ever wanted to show.  
  
Dean used his knife to eat, balancing the pie on the flat of the blade. The first bite was as good as he remembered, if not better. Warm and juicy, the flavor of apple pie hadn’t been affected by his curse. The flaky crust was thicker, of course, but the flavor remained all the same. “People really need to leave this out more,” he said out loud. “It’s just not the same when you find crumbs hanging around. There’s never any of the _good_ part left.”  
  
Jacob chuckled quietly, glad that Dean at least enjoyed his peace offering. Even if he only came back for the pie, he was actually talking to Jacob instead of slinging nicknames and snark, and that was progress.  
  
"Now you've got the whole slice to yourself," he pointed out, his smile widening a bit. If the little guy’s enthusiasm was any indication, Dean would be able to pack away plenty of that pie in his little body. But there would still be a lot left considering the little guy's stomach couldn't be larger than a bean. "You can stick some in your bag there."  
  
Dean surveyed the pie, gauging how much he would be able to carry. And how, exactly, he'd explain the sudden appearance of so much pie after being explicitly told to stay away from the room. He had enough fabric lining the bottom of his duffel to grab a decent amount.  
  
Sam would never let him hear the end of it regardless.  
  
No matter what, Dean wouldn't leave his little brother out of the spoils. It had been so long since either brother had had fresh food. The closest they ever got was the supplies they got from the kitchen.  
  
Jacob watched the gears turning in Dean’s head. He clearly had to live day to day, only taking what he could to survive. It sounded like a harsh existence for such a small person. If Jacob could help a little, he would, and not just to make up for what he’d done; it’d be wrong to ignore someone’s plight like that.  
  
"So ... I know you and, uh, Sammy had to run off pretty quick yesterday because I'm dangerous and all," he began hesitantly. His coming question could easily be met with anger or distrust. "Is that pie really the only reason you came back?" If that was the case, Jacob sincerely hoped it was worth Dean putting himself near someone so big and dangerous.  
  
Dean took a few more bites of his pie, considering Jacob with a level stare. “Dude, if Sam hears you calling him ‘Sammy,’ you'll never hear the end of it,” he warned with a smirk at the memory of how pissed Sam still got with him from time to time.  
  
His next statement was more serious as Dean slipped back to his stern demeanor. “Tell me. Did you give me any reasons, aside from the pie, to come back?”  
  
Jacob's face flushed a little and he felt a heat in his cheeks as that stern scrutiny fixed on him. Amazingly, he felt stuck in that gaze, even though he could physically hide it from sight with ease. Just one hand would do the job. He pursed his lips as the truth in Dean's implications sank in.  
  
Jacob may have let Dean go, and he knew without a doubt that it was the right thing to do. That would never change the fact that he'd been the one to trap Dean in the first place, which decidedly cancelled out any good he'd done. He averted his gaze to look down at the wood grain pattern of the table. They both knew the answer to Dean's question. The only difference was that now Dean didn't even need to tell Jacob off for him to feel sufficiently scolded.  
  
Grabbing Dean. Taking his knife. Ignoring his demands to be let go. _Trapping_ him. That had all been Jacob, making hasty decisions without thinking them through. The act of grabbing Sam by itself hadn't even been what jolted him out of it. Dean had to become so afraid that he was near tears over his younger brother for Jacob to look critically at his own actions.  
  
Needless to say, he was disappointed in himself. "Guess not," he finally admitted, a sad sort of smile on his lips. "I don't blame you if this doesn't mean much. But, I'm sorry ... again. For what I did."  
  
Dean nodded as he stood to get a second piece of pie. “As long as you realize it was wrong.” He sliced off a hunk, this time with more apple filling. He’d have to prioritize when he took leftovers home with him and the apple filling wouldn’t keep the way the crust would on the dry shelves. They could slip out to the motel kitchen and grab some napkins the next time he went out with Sam. That would make a good wrapper for the delicious, flaky crust.  
  
“I’m not sayin’ anyone’s perfect the first time around,” Dean went on as he took a bite of the pie. The warm, full feeling in his stomach was something he hadn’t felt in so long he almost didn’t recognize it.  
  
“But kid, you make some of the _worst_ first impressions I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Jacob's expression switched to shock, and then a sheepish smirk. Of all the criticisms he could have gotten, that was the least expected. It was far more casual than anyone could have guessed, considering what he'd actually done. ‘Bad first impression’ barely covered it.  
  
"I, uh ... you're not the first person to say so," he admitted quietly. Indeed, Jacob tried his best in every aspect of his life, but he made his fair share of mistakes. This was simply one of the worst, if he considered the impact he could have had on Dean and Sam if he'd made one move differently.  
  
He twisted his mouth slightly in a thoughtful frown, pausing to consider his words. He may have had a shit first impression, but Dean was back again. It was possible he could make up for it. A slim chance was still a chance.  
  
"So you and Sam ... you probably look out for each other for everything, huh?"  
  
Dean didn’t have to think about that one. After all, since they’d been cursed at ten and fourteen, Sam was all he had. They watched each other’s backs no matter what happened and they’d always be there for each other. Even being in Jacob’s room like this, Dean knew that Sam would want to be there for support, as foolhardy as it was. Complaining and lecturing the entire way.  
  
“That’s what brothers d--”  
  
Dean was cut off mid-sentence when a voice cut in from behind. Stalking angrily out from the same corner of the table he’d climbed up was Sam.  
  
And he looked _pissed._  
  
“Dean! What. The. _Hell!_ ”

[Artwork by iamthetwickster](http://lamthetwickster.tumblr.com/)


	9. Dean, What the Hell?!

[Artwork by lamthetwickster](https://lamthetwickster.tumblr.com/)

Jacob straightened immediately and leaned back a little at Sam's unexpected appearance. He belatedly realized that his sudden movement might have startled the small people on the table, but then again Sam had just popped out of _nowhere._ Jacob looked past him for a brief second, trying to figure out how he'd missed him climbing up. As luck would have it, the brothers seemed more concerned with each other than with his movements.  
  
_Ninjas. They're ninjas. Tiny ninja people._  
  
He bit his lip, able to see the anger on that little face despite its small size. Sam was very clear about what he was feeling, right down to the gait of his walk. Somehow, Jacob had gotten Dean into trouble with his younger but taller sibling.  
  
"H-hey ... Sam ..." Jacob greeted uncertainly. "Dean showed up for pie," he explained, his voice a little wound up with nerves, which almost surprised him. It wasn't like he _needed_ to be worried about Sam being angry. He could lean away from the table a little and be completely out of reach for Sam. "You're welcome to it, too."  
  
Sam sent up a scathing glare at Jacob, momentarily unaffected by the human’s sheer size with the complete aggravation that filled him since discovering that Dean was missing from his home… and finding him in the _one place_ Sam had told him _not_ to go back to.  
  
“Jacob… no offense to you, but… Dean, he trapped you in a coffee pot yesterday! For over an _hour,_ when I was stuck and couldn’t do anything but watch! What were you thinking, coming out here without telling me where you were?! We’re supposed to _watch each other’s backs,_ right?! That’s what we’ve done ever since we lost dad! How can I do that if you don’t _tell_ me these things!?” Sam crossed his arms, glaring at his older brother with steely hazel eyes.  
  
Dean’s mouth hung ajar after the verbal assault, his foil plate slightly crumpled in his grip as he instinctively tried to hold it out as a shield. Sam cocked his head, waiting for a reply with his jaw set.  
  
After a few failed attempts to talk, Dean just held out his plate. “Pie?”  
  
Sam scoffed in annoyance and threw up his hands. “What am I supposed to do with you?”  
  
Jacob remained frozen after that withering gaze. Sam was _pissed._ Jacob supposed he understood why, considering what the little guy was all but yelling about. Jacob would be worried about family, too, if they went hanging around a giant that had a history of trapping them.  
  
He wished he knew what to say to interject, but he came up with nothing. It wasn't as though he'd kidnapped Dean again, but he hadn't thought much on whether someone would miss him while he was in Jacob's room, happily enjoying the apple pie. Dean was there by his own choice. A baffling choice, to be sure, but his own all the same.  
  
Something Sam had said came back to him, something that had some personal impact on Jacob just from hearing it, and before he could stop himself, Jacob had to ask "You ... lost your dad?" Only a moment later he winced and shook his head. "Wait. Nevermind. Sorry. Not my business."  
  
“No… you’re fine,” Sam said with a sigh. “It’s our fault for being in here.” He sent Dean another glare, letting him know that they were _not_ finished talking. Dean arched his eyebrows innocently. “Our dad’s been gone since we were little. We don’t know what happened to him. If he’s still out there, or if he’s…”  
  
“He’s _not_ dead,” Dean interjected, a scowl back on his face as the implication behind the pause hit a nerve with him. They’d argued about the topic many times, Sam protesting that there was no way for them to know with John being a hunter. “He’s just out there and one day he’ll be back and he’ll _find_ us!”  
  
Sam gave him a flat look. “Why would he come back here? If he thought we were alive, he would’ve found us already. He’s given us up for dead, and why shouldn’t he? After all, how would he know we were…” He gestured with an arm, and then a redness crawled up his cheeks as he realized he’d gone too far, come too close to letting Jacob know what they really were.  
  
Jacob's brow pinched with confusion as they spoke. Two tiny brothers with stealth in spades were having a heated argument on a table in front of him. Their boots were barely bigger than the heading of the newspaper section they stood on. It was, hands down, the weirdest sight he'd ever seen and Jacob committed it to memory.  
  
What they were arguing _about_ confused him the most. It was hard to follow, assuming their dad was a little guy like them. If he'd gone out to get food for them and gotten hurt or something, they never would have found out. An alternative that Jacob knew was all too possible also sprang to mind. Someone could have trapped the man and taken him away against his will. In their eyes, Jacob had threatened to do just that with Dean, whether he meant to look that way or not. Separating two brothers who only had each other in the world.  
  
But it didn't fit everything they said. It sounded like their dad didn't even know where they were, which didn't make much sense. Sam's sudden halt only made him more curious.  
  
Hesitantly, Jacob lowered himself again to rest his chin on his arms. He made sure he was still a good distance from the brothers; the stinging cuts healing on his hand warned him not to get Sam too keyed up. "Know you were what?" he asked, curiosity in his eyes though he was also bracing himself for a biting remark.  
  
Sam’s cheeks were still flaming but Dean doubted there was any point in covering anything up. The most dangerous knowledge for Jacob to have was their very _existence._ Now that he already knew they were around, what they’d been in the past didn’t matter very much.  
  
Human, not human. Neither brother could go back to the life they’d lived. Revealing what they were would change nothing, but it _might_ make Jacob think that they were the only ones.  
  
Telling the truth to distract from the other truth. They needed to protect Walt and Mallory from discovery no matter what.  
  
Before Sam could blurt out an excuse, Dean interrupted again, his voice still gruff from the talk of their father. “That we’re _this,_ ” he spat out, resignation and regret heavy in his voice. He waved an arm at his small height. “That we got hit with a curse and never saw him again after it happened. It’s been thirteen, almost fourteen _years_ since we ever saw our dad. Stuck in this _goddammed_ motel all this time with no way out and no way to find him.”  
  
Jacob's lips parted slightly in surprise, but he quickly picked his jaw up off the floor to frown. Cursed. That had to mean that once, Dean and Sam had been human-sized kids. Somehow, they’d been turned tiny and left behind in a world that was simply too large for them. It was harsh and unfair, and Jacob realized with a sinking heart that he'd become a part of that stark reality when he trapped Dean.  
  
If it wasn't for a curse most of Jacob’s lifetime ago, he never would have met Dean. He certainly wouldn't have been as much of a pain in the ass as he'd been so far. Dean and Sam had not only lost their family, but their lives had come to a dead end.  
  
They were still here.  
  
They were survivors of something they never should have had to survive, at a fraction of their sizes. Jacob had dealt with his own sense of loss years ago, and he had things a lot easier. He had no curse to deal with, and he at least _knew_ where his dad was. Not knowing would drive him crazy.  
  
It was that thought that brought a crazy notion into his head. One that he was sure that if he voiced it, it would be met with flat out refusal to consider and a hasty exit by the small brothers, never to be seen by him again. But, Jacob didn't listen to his rational side, instead opting to say it anyway.  
  
"Do you ... d'you want help? Getting out and finding him, I mean."  
  
Sam and Dean paused. Those few words derailed the emotional tumult caused by the reminder of their grim reality. They shared a look of shock, eyes widening simultaneously as Jacob’s voice tapered off.  
  
Sam was the first one to break the silence, staring up at the hulking human at the edge of the table. He didn’t flinch as he met the brown-eyed gaze. Dean had been in the room for a while before he’d arrived, and clearly Jacob hadn’t snatched at him again, so Sam chose to give him the benefit of the doubt.  
  
Second chances were something both brothers held dear to their hearts, after so many years wishing and waiting for theirs.  
  
For years, they’d both hoped for the curse to wear off, for John to come back. They’d watched the parking lot from the small opening on the roof. Dean stayed as far back from the edge as he could and swore it was only to avoid the birds outside. Sam could never understand how his older brother could manage to climb like he did and _still_ turn white at heights. But his drive to watch for their dad kept him there, despite the fear.  
  
“Jacob,” Sam started slowly, his brow creased. “Why? You spent yesterday catching us both. Why do you want to help us now?”  
  
Jacob took a slow breath, trying to put his words together in a thoughtful answer. Sam was right, of course. He'd messed up royally just the day before, and given them few reasons to trust him with such a huge undertaking. As Dean said, his first impression sucked.  
  
"I like to think I learn a thing or two from my mistakes," he answered, after several second's pause. And it was true; Jacob took things to heart when he messed up. It was the best way to avoid the same mistake later.  
  
This time, he felt, required a little more effort to actually make up for his actions, and he said something to that effect. "It was wrong of me, yeah, but a bunch of mistakes shouldn't stop me from trying to do the right thing, right? I think ..." His voice petered out.  
  
Like they'd go for an excuse like that. Jacob glanced aside at the bed, wondering if he'd be better off ducking out of their conversation so the brothers could have their argument. Despite being the one the room was built for, he felt out of place at the table with the two of them.  
  
After a pause to make sure Jacob was finished talking, Sam glanced at Dean to see what he thought. Dean arched his eyebrows, angling the remains of his piece of pie the slightest amount at Sam. Sam had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at that. Give Dean pie, and all was forgiven.  
  
But Sam knew, deep inside, it was more than that. Dean might be foolhardy and reckless compared to the others but he wasn't stupid. He was always good at reading people. He wouldn't toss his life away for food, not with Sam around relying on him.  
  
Plus, the prickling on Sam's neck was present, but nothing about it said he was in danger, simply in view of the enormous human. They needed to trust their instincts.  
  
At the end of the day, instincts were all they had.  
  
After the silent exchange with Dean, Sam turned back to Jacob, looking up at the looming human. Who, Sam noticed, had a hint of hope hiding in his expression. At their size, it was easy to read the planes of his face.  
  
Sam crossed his arms to give himself a confident stance. “If we stick around for a bit,” he said to Jacob. “We need to know you're not going to change your mind. ‘Hands off’ means just that… No grabbing or picking us up unless we let you. Deal?”  
  
Jacob's eyes were wide and he nodded once. He remained where he was, leaning on his arms, afraid of breaking the tenuous connection he'd just managed to make. Sam stood there as confident as Jacob had ever seen him, laying down ground rules for Jacob to continue to be around the pair of diminutive brothers.  
  
He'd been given a chance to make things _right._  
  
His lips stretched into a cautious grin. "You got it," he answered without argument. The last thing he wanted was to alienate either of them by grabbing them up like he had the day before. Then, he'd largely ignored their struggles to get free in favor of getting a curious look at them. He was resolved to be better than that.  
  
"Is there, uh. Anything else I oughta do?" he asked, certain that they would tell him if there was, after an invitation like that.  
  
Sam shared another glance with Dean, noting that he'd ended up the spokesperson when he wasn't paying attention. “That's about it, I think. Just make sure you don't go grabbing anyone else like us if you see them.”  
  
“And try not to stomp around so much,” Dean chimed in helpfully, going back to finishing off his pie now that Sam had forgotten to finish yelling at him.  
  
Sam threw him an annoyed glance, convinced Dean wasn't taking things as seriously as he should. He sighed one last time. “If anything else comes up, we'll let ya know,” he told Jacob.  
  
Jacob grinned again. "Alright." The word was filled with relief and hope. "Thanks." He shifted one of his arms beneath his chin, making sure he didn't cause his hand to fall asleep from his odd position. It may not be conventional for him, but it was easier to see the tiny pair this way.  
  
He glanced past Sam at the pie, still sitting there and looking like it hadn't even been touched despite Dean having two helpings. "Well, is it as good as the diner says it is? They claimed best pie in _Kansas._ ”  
  
Dean smirked at that. “Best pie I’ve had in over a decade.” The irony of the statement wasn’t lost on him. “Seriously. Sam, you should have a piece.”  
  
After years of living off of what they could scrounge up, even with Dean’s ability to find what he needed at any given time, both brothers were thinner than the average person, Dean more so than Sam. A few good meals wouldn’t go unappreciated with either of them.  
  
Sam let Dean press his foil plate into his hands, staring down at the appetizing mound of apple and crust. “I… guess…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both brothers got to have their pie!
> 
> Next: Coming June 5th at 9pm est.
> 
> All reviews and kudos appreciated <3


	10. Try Me

Dean watched until Sam started in on the pie, pleased that he’d finally gotten his little brother to accept the food. He turned back to Jacob. “You mentioned somethin’ about helping us find our dad. What did you mean by that? He’s not the easiest man to track down. We lived out of the car as much as motel rooms growing up.”  
  
Jacob shrugged, trying not to shake the table much when he did so. Every move he made could potentially shake the ground Sam and Dean stood on. He was starting to get why Dean said he stomped everywhere. It blew his mind to think of his actions having that much impact when they were so mundane and casual to him. Jacob would have to try really hard to understand any of the reality these brothers lived with.  
  
"I can't promise any miracles, but I can at least try a few sources," he answered. Jacob's stepfather was a cop. He could call someone at the precinct and ask if they had any information on the guy. But that was a big _if._ "I can try calling the station where my stepdad works, he's a police officer," he said uncertainly. "If that doesn't drag up any information on him, I dunno, is there someone else out there I can try to call, too? Maybe they'd know."  
  
Dean had to purse his lips as he listened. They’d pretty much be putting cops on John Winchester’s trail. If there was another way, he’d take it, but there really wasn't another option for them. They were damn lucky to have gotten any help at all. John would just have to accept that they’d had no other choice.  
  
Hopefully.  
  
Considering both brothers were smaller than a hand, he hoped that John wouldn’t be _too_ upset. Raised voices could hurt their ears and shake their entire bodies without any actual effort.   
  
Jacob’s deep, rumbling voice had been loud enough the day before when he was speaking in a normal tone. Now, the human rested his head on the table to see them better, and talked in a much softer voice. Dean could hear his _breathing_ loud and clear, lungs bigger than their bedroom working to move air in and out of the huge chambers. Thankfully, it was doubtful Jacob would ever need to raise his voice at them.  
  
Dean stuck his hands in the side pockets of his leather jacket, mulling over the options and trying to think of anything that would help. “We’ve got his name and car, along with the license plate, but no phone number. Cell phones weren’t big back then…” He trailed off. The world had changed in the last fourteen years, and they'd been left behind, stuck with a limited view of everything.  
  
“What about Bobby?” Sam spoke up, his pie forgotten as his eyes lit up. “I don’t think he’d ever move.” He twisted around to look at Jacob. “One of dad’s friends owns a junkyard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. We don’t have his number either… but we’ve got the name of the junkyard. Singer Salvage Yard. Dad would leave us there from time to time. It was where we got to stay in school the longest without having to hop districts, and Bobby always tried to insist that we stay the full year… even though that didn’t happen much.”  
  
Jacob latched onto the information, mouthing _Singer Salvage Yard_ with barely moving lips as he resolved to remember the words. If their dad was as elusive as he sounded, getting a lead might be easier through someone who actually knew him than through the cops. After all, the AWOL Winchester had to have a record of some kind if the database were to have anything useful on the man.  
  
Considering how unconvinced Dean was about the cops being able to help, this Bobby sounded like a much better bet. Their dad at least trusted him enough to leave his kids with the man for months at a time. That was definitely something.  
  
"Well. That guy sounds like he might have some kind of answer for us. Maybe a direction to point us in, if not a phone number, y'know?" he mused hopefully. He wondered if he'd be able to find the salvage yard in the phone book.  
  
If not, it was less than a day's drive to Sioux Falls. Jacob, familiar with the road trip routine, would be able to make it there in no time at all if it came to that. "I could try to call him, see if he's still around there," he suggested, already hopeful for a chance to make some progress. His previous mission to find a job was forgotten in the wake of this new goal. It felt way more important.  
  
Dean inclined his head. “If you’re up for it. Dad might not… _appreciate_ the cops being called on him. He always said they got in the way when he was on a job.” For the moment, a more important detail was bothering him at the back of his mind and he let it come to the fore at last.  
  
“Jacob,” he began. “What are you plannin’ here? You have to know we can’t pay you back for any help. We have it hard just getting food for ourselves and if you manage to find where dad is, we’ll need help getting to him. Are you really going to bring us all that way if it comes down to it?”  
  
It was a hard question, but they needed to know. Dean wouldn’t get his hopes up for just the wisp of a prayer.  
  
Jacob's eyebrows pinched together, struck by the lingering skepticism in Dean's voice. There was resentment there for the situation he'd been forced to live with for half his life. Jacob was concerned, but not surprised. After all, he could never have expected or asked for blind faith at this stage. They barely knew him, and all they had to go on was the coffee pot and a plate of pie. Jacob had a checkered history and he’d barely known them for 24 hours.  
  
He offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile despite the tough question. Jacob already knew the right thing to do, and he wasn't about to let a little cynicism stand in his way. "Sure, Dean. It'd be kind of a dick move to offer to help and then back out right away, right?" he replied, knowing there was more to it than that.  
  
"It's not as much trouble for me as it might seem. I'm always on the road, anyway. And ... I know a little about what it's like to lose someone important, but not knowing what happened to him? That's ... you shouldn't have to deal with that." Jacob's short speech was quiet, but earnest. There was a gleam in his eye that showed he really believed what he said.  
  
Dean let out a small breath of air he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was hard, after almost fourteen years of being trapped, to let himself trust someone else’s hopeful words. Especially when that someone else was a human, one who’d demonstrated just how easily he could hold both brothers captive the day before. He was glad he hadn’t misjudged Jacob in the end. Seeing that genuine regret in the kid’s eyes was the reason Dean had risked coming back at all.  
  
“So, you lost someone like us?” Dean asked. He could still remember the night their mother had died in the fire, carrying Sam out of the house and having no idea what to do until John got them out of there. Without Mary.  
  
And now they might have a way to get back to the only family they had left, the father that had left them behind. They could start putting the shattered pieces of their lives back together, one shard at a time. It would be different, but at least it would be more theirs than the life they’d lived in the confines of the motel.  
  
Dean came back to himself and shook his head. “Y’know what? Forget it. It’s not our business. You don’t have to tell us anything.”  
  
Jacob's lips twitched up into a half smile and he managed a shrug again, this one slower and not as noticeable to him (though he bet Dean saw it just fine). "No worries," he replied. He'd made peace with things a while ago, and having some closure definitely played a large part in that.  
  
"My dad got sick when I was a kid. So I guess it's really not the same as your situation at all, but I do kinda know what you mean," he explained. They'd told him a lot about themselves. The least Jacob could do was explain his own connection to their story.  
  
He offered a faint smile. "So we just gotta figure out where your dad is somehow. Even if he's hard to find."  
  
Dean actually gave Jacob a faint smile back, surprised to realize the tension from being around the human was going away. So far, Jacob had taken a complete 180 from the day before. Even his movements were subdued by comparison. He was making a real effort. Dean let his stance relax a bit more. “Bobby’s the right place to start. He was the one that kept an eye on the goings of all the hunters dad knew. They’d all check in with him. If anyone knows where dad is, it’ll be him.”  
  
Sam, finished with his pie, carefully brushed off the aluminum plate and started to fold it back up to put in his bag. “You think Bobby will listen if he knows what happened to us?” he asked with a touch of worry. They both knew that they’d be lucky to come out of an encounter with certain hunters alive. He tucked the tin foil into his satchel, saving it for another use.  
  
Dean dismissed it with a shake of his head. “If anyone’s gonna listen to us, it’ll be dad or Bobby.”  
  
Jacob couldn't help the rising optimism he felt. He knew there was no way he'd made it out of the woods as far as making it up to them was concerned, but he was on the right path. And he'd be helping to put a family back together, too, which was probably one of the most worthy ways to get sidetracked. "I'm sure we can get them to listen."  
  
He shifted carefully, finally picking himself up from where he leaned on his arms. He leaned back in his chair, subconsciously flexing the pins and needles from his hands as he moved them off the table and looked over his shoulder at the clock. It wasn't even quite noon yet.  
  
Looking back at the two on the table, it was almost weird, after leaning down closer to their level for so long, to see them from this angle again. Jacob wasn't sure if he should lean down again, but opted to avoid crowding them. "Do you want me to try to call Bobby? I'd have to head out to the phone booth, the one in here is busted. I can at least see if he's still there."  
  
Sam backed away from Jacob out of pure instinct, and even Dean took a step back under that high-up gaze. While he was leaning down on the table to talk to them it was easy for it to slip their minds that the guy chatting about pie and family was actually one of the largest humans they’d ever seen. Dean wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the kid was taller than their dad had been, and as kids John Winchester had stood tall and proud.  
  
Dean had looked up to him, even after they were left behind.  
  
With a shrug, Dean had to agree. “If you’re up for it. We… won’t be able to come out to help ya with that.” He glanced back at Sam, then at the pie. “And if you mean it about helping us get back there, we should take some pie back to my place.”  
  
It was second nature to conceal Walt and Mallory’s presence. Every person that learned about people that lived in the walls was just another threat to the innocents living out their lives. It was bad enough Jacob knew about him and Sam. They couldn’t put anyone else at risk.  
  
Dean pursed his lips. “And we could grab our things while we’re there.”  
  
Jacob nodded. "Yeah, dude, take as much as you want," he answered. He wondered how they stored food, or if they were able to keep much. It seemed so touch and go, relying on humans dropping stuff or leaving it out. Especially in a slow season. Jacob had no trouble at all sending the two brothers on their way with as much food as they could carry. It wasn't like he _needed_ it as much as they did.  
  
He paused, glanced to the side to gaze across the floor of the room, and then frowned slightly. Jacob was suddenly confronted with the idea of miniature people being on the floor while he was walking around, and that ... it sounded so strange. And dangerous. One wrong move was all it would take, and his boots were taller than both brothers combined. If he could avoid that situation, he was going to.  
  
So, since Sam and Dean were on the table and he could see them clearly, Jacob pushed his chair back and stood. He was more careful with his motions than he might normally be, suddenly feeling absolutely _obnoxiously_ big as he rose to his considerable height. He had to back off from the table so he didn't feel so much like he was looking down at them like the day before. His shadow retreated and he felt marginally better about the stark difference.  
  
He hoped he wouldn't repeat scaring them like he had, but there wasn't much he could do with his height. "I'll, uh. I'll be back in a bit. I'll find out what I can and you guys take your time doing whatever. I'll be here." With that said, Jacob made his way to the door, putting his focus on it long enough to exit the room and lock it behind him.  
  
With that done, he took a slow breath. He'd just had a full conversation with two men smaller than his finger. _Holy. Shit._ Jacob shook off the weirdness of it all and started towards the front office to ask the clerk to look up the number for _Singer Salvage Yard_ for him. He had a task to do.  
  


* * *

  
Sam watched the door close behind the human and felt his shoulders slump down. The constant tingle on his neck from being watched so curiously started to dissipate. He couldn’t blame the guy, considering how unique their situation was to any normal human, but that didn’t help dampen the feeling of being watched. It was a palpable sensation for the youngest Winchester.  
  
The second they were alone, he whirled on Dean. “Really?” he snapped. “Going to a human’s room to ask for pie and not even  _telling_ me?!”  
  
Dean held his hands up to stave off the verbal attack. “Dude, chill!” He attempted a grin. “He didn’t grab me at all this time _and_ we got enough food for the entire family!”  
  
They made their way over to the pie while they were talking. Sam shot back, “But Dean. If he _had_ grabbed you again, I might not know where to search to _find_ you! You can’t go taking risks like that. We need to look out for each other. You _know_ that!”  
  
Dean sighed, dropping to his knees next to his duffel and opening the flap. He gathered up the extra cloth that padded the sides and handed it up to Sam. The tin foil and other supplies he used on a daily basis got pushed off to one side to make room. “I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, Sam. It’s my job to watch out for you.” He stood back up and took a cloth from Sam to start gathering the crust. “I got you in trouble yesterday, I can’t risk that again. You’re all I’ve got left, kid.”  
  
Sam frowned at him but followed Dean’s lead, opening up his satchel to begin placing the parcels of pie crust inside. “You’re all I’ve got left too.”  
  
Dean shook his head dismissively, then smirked. “Nah. You’ve got Walt and Mallory. They’ve always watched out for you more than me. And that Krissy. She’s got her eye on you I hear.” He sobered up after that. “That’s why I think if Jacob gives us a lift, you should stay here.”  
  
Sam blanched. “What? No way in hell am I letting you go off with some random human on your own! What if something happens? I’ll never find out if you’re okay!”  
  
“But you’ll be safe, and as soon as I get dad or Bobby, we’ll come back! Sam, you _can’t_ risk it!” Dean stepped away from the pie, closing his duffel with the tip of his boot and sweeping it off the ground and back over his shoulder.  
  
Sam’s jaw was set. “Just try and leave without me. I dare you.”  
  
Both glares were equally potent while Sam stuffed the last of the crust that they could fit in his satchel. He slung it over his own shoulder. “Dean, you sure as hell know that _I’m_ the faster one when it comes to getting around this place. You try and leave without me, I’ll just hitch a ride in Jacob’s backpack.”  
  
Dean scoffed. “You wouldn’t.”  
  
Sam’s eyes were steely. “ _Try me_ ,” he repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Dean. Do not test the Sammers. He will go through with it, and Jacob will have a heart attack if he doesn't notice Sam right away.
> 
> Next: Coming June 7th at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment/kudos if you enjoy!


	11. Reactions and Instincts

The brothers made their way to the floor using the hook Dean left wedged in the table opposite the seat Jacob had occupied. Not much was said after the argument, but both knew that Dean had no leg to stand on. Sam wouldn’t let him leave on his own, and that was that. The only way he could stop it was to tie Sam to a chair or let Walt know what they had planned. Neither option would end well for either brother, so Dean let the subject drop. The way their luck ran, if Walt got wind of the plan they’d _both_ get tied to a chair to keep them from a potentially dangerous human. Dean didn’t want to risk what might be their only chance to return to their father like that.  
  
They slipped from the room before the human returned, Dean naturally falling into the lead. Their first stop was at Walt and Mallory’s place. Sam didn’t talk much aside from greeting their adopted mother with a hug and a kiss on her forehead. They both knew if he tried to speak, Walt would sniff out what they were up to from a mile away. For some reason, Sam couldn’t lie to the man.  
  
Dean was a far smoother liar than his brother and he made small talk as he put the leftover pie away in the pantry, filling the air with the ‘story’ of how they’d found it in an abandoned room. They’d had enough time to fill Dean’s shelves and go back for another round for Walt and Mallory.  
  
While Dean talked, Sam slipped into his room to silently pack. They didn’t own much between the two of them, aside from a dollhouse desk and bed for Sam and a few scrounged furnishings and a nest of fabric at Dean’s, but they did have clothes and a few personal effects.  
  
Dean’s amulet, hanging around his neck ever since being downsized. Their knives, two of a kind. Silver and sharp, they’d been used more than once against any rats that tried to infest the motel.  
  
And of course, Sam had managed to find himself a journal. He tucked that into his satchel along with the extra pencil lead and a few sets of clothing. After that was all packed up next to his hook, he slipped out of the room and motioned to Dean that he was ready. Dean started to wrap up his story, slowly excusing them both from the small home.  
  
Luckily, everyone was used to Sam and Dean spending most of their time together. They were an undeniably effective team. Them leaving together wasn’t questioned, though Mallory stole a kiss on Sam's cheek and a whispered “Be careful" out of Walt or Dean's hearing.  
  
Now all that was left was a quick stop at Dean’s place so they could close it up to keep any pests out. If they ever needed to return, it would be waiting for them.  
  


* * *

  
"Come on, dude, there's a computer right in front of you, I just need you to help me out," Jacob said exasperatedly. The clerk rolled his eyes and made a laborious show of putting his hand on the mouse and clicking on his solitaire window to close it.  
  
 _Just one little thing. Y'know, your actual_ job _, shithead._  
  
"What's the name of the place again?" the clerk asked in a bored voice, making it clear that Jacob's disturbance of their shift doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing was unwanted and very irritating. Jacob offered no sympathy.  
  
"Singer Salvage Yard, Sioux Falls, South Dakota,” Jacob answered, his voice shifting from exasperation to a cold annoyance. “It's not in your phone book.” He didn't let himself appear irritated very often, because he'd learned that he was already imposing enough without it. He had size on his side, and it was usually enough to make people wary of him.  
  
The guy typed a little faster, suddenly more awake, so Jacob thought he could excuse his 'accidental' slip. He was relieved, but he kept his arms crossed impatiently while the man pulled up search results.  
  
"Ah, here we go," the clerk muttered, reaching for a pen without looking away. He knocked over his cup of writing utensils, fumbling a pen out of it without caring about the few that rolled off the edge. The desk was already cluttered.  
  
The phone number and an address were scrawled out on the post-it note that was shoved into Jacob's hands. "Anything else, _sir?_ " the clerk asked.   
  
Ornery guy.  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes and turned to leave. "Nope. Thanks for the trouble," he said, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with that guy again anytime soon.  
  
However, the encounter was out of mind as he reached the phone booth. Jacob took a deep breath before dialing, wondering what he'd even say to this guy. He was a stranger, calling to tell a man that two people he thought died as children were alive, well, and looking for their dad, and then ask where he might find their father.  
  
He might have to really try to keep the man from thinking it was a prank call.  
  
Jacob put some change into the phone and dialed. He'd have to come up with something. He might be able to make it up as he went along.  
  
Or not. The tone rang a couple times before he got the annoying, screechy beeps and _We're sorry, your call did not go through_. Jacob frowned and tried again.   
  
And again.   
  
Bobby Singer was apparently behind on a phone bill.  
  
Jacob pursed his lips and admitted defeat. He shoved the note into his jeans pocket and headed back towards the room. He at least had an address, which was still a lead. He could still help Sam and Dean, somehow.  
  
He wasn't surprised to find they weren't on the table when he returned. Jacob locked the door and watched his steps with a certain paranoia as he made his way over to the chair and sat down with a huff. He leaned over to grab the remote from the nearest bed and flicked the TV on to channel surf for a while.  
  
His want ads were left ignored. Jacob knew his next destination. The only thing he wasn't sure of was whether or not he'd have passengers with him.  
  


* * *

  
With their bags full of spare clothes and supplies instead of empty for their findings, Sam and Dean set out for the motel room one last time. Dean’s small home that he’d built with Sam’s help was sealed up behind them to keep the pests out. There wasn’t much food within to attract them. Pickings really had been slim for the last few weeks, another reason that the pie had called Dean’s name so loudly when he realized it was left out.  
  
They took the path underneath the bed to reach the table this time, unsure at first if Jacob was even in the room. Neither of them would chance walking in front of a door that size if a human was going to open it. Getting hit would feel like getting run over by a bus.  
  
The sound of the television overhead kept the silence away. Dean caught sight of the massive boots shifting at the table and stiffened slightly, working up his resolve to step out from under the bed and into sight of a human looming over them. His hand touched at the hilt of his knife, absently fingering it as he stepped out into the light and into sight, Sam right behind him.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob, drumming his fingers on the table and watching the TV without really seeing it, didn't notice the two brothers until they'd taken a few steps out into the open. When he glanced down at the barest flicker of motion, he almost flinched to see them there. He blinked and his hand searched for the remote, turning down the volume of the TV without looking at the buttons. He kept his eye on the two down on the floor, feeling obnoxiously tall again.  
  
They were just _so small._ He knew he shouldn't get caught up on that so much, since they were just people, but it was tough. He could probably fit them both in one hand with room to spare.  
  
"Hey, guys," he greeted uncertainly, offering a belated smile. He shifted only slightly in his seat, placing his hands on his knees and doing his best not to lean forward to see them better. That, he knew, counted as looming.  
  
Remembering his poor luck with the phone, his cheeks heated up a little bit. "So, uh. I didn't manage to get a call through to Bobby. But I got an address in Sioux Falls, so I know how to get there... Sorry I don't have better news for you than that."  
  
Dean shrugged, ignoring the way Sam absently rubbed at his neck. So long as they were going to be willingly around a human, he’d probably have the ghost of a feeling on his neck and there was nothing any of them could do. What else could they do? Just tell Jacob he could look at Dean all he wanted but ignore Sam? That would be a fun explanation. At least Dean’s ability to find things didn’t affect him constantly.   
  
“Sounds like you had more luck than we’d have,” he said with a knowing smirk. If they even tried to go down to the office to get a phone number, it would all be over.  
  
Since Jacob wasn’t moving, Dean glanced both ways, then darted towards the table. They couldn’t afford to let their guards down, even though the human in the room knew where they were. It was just too dangerous. Skidding to a halt, he tossed up his hook, biting his lip as he watched it arc through the air.  
  
The aim was true and it clattered to the tabletop not far from the edge. With careful motions Dean cajoled it so the barbed end slipped into a crack and lodged itself in the wood. He tugged the line and, the second it was deemed secure, Sam was climbing up it, wasting no time at all. He was halfway up to the table before Dean even had time to step away.  
  
Then it was Dean’s turn. He grasped the black thread, muttering to himself “Goddamn furniture. Too damn tall.”  
  
Jacob's eyes widened, and he did his best not to stare as the two made the sheer climb up to the table. He failed, because it was just plain _cool_ to see someone manage to climb a rope like that. Ropes were tough for most people, and yet Sam and Dean looked like professionals doing it.  
  
He made himself stop staring when Sam had about a quarter of the way to go to the tabletop. Jacob knew that was how they'd gotten up to the table before; he'd literally caught Dean in the act, after all. But actually seeing it in action (without interrupting like he had before) was something else entirely.  
  
His newspapers and pen were still scattered across the table, and the pie still sat out. Jacob wondered what he would end up doing with that; the takeout box was pretty much useless. Thoughts like that helped distract him while the brothers made their way up to the table, hopefully unbothered by Jacob.  
  
When they made it, he leaned his chin on his elbow, again trying not to lean closer to where they'd landed. It was a tough, conscious effort, with the newness of the situation still being so strong. "You actually came back again," he remarked, sounding almost relieved by the fact. "Does this mean you're aiming to take a road trip?"  
  
Dean tugged his hook out of the table, assuming they wouldn’t be climbing down again. If they took the path they were on, they’d be leaving the table in a completely different way. One that gave his stomach butterflies to even consider.  
  
The last time he’d been picked up by the human, it was unwilling. Plucked right off his thread and skyrocketed six feet into the air. Standing less than four inches tall, that was no small distance. It was like being dangled over a hundred foot drop, at the whim of a complete unknown.  
  
Now, if they went with Jacob, it would be willingly. They’d be putting a lot of trust in the kid, but something in Dean told him it wasn’t unwarranted. There hadn't been any slip-ups since the day before, ever since letting Dean out of that damned coffee pot.  
  
And they _needed_ to try. Even if it was a gamble. They didn’t _belong_ in the motel, and never had.  
  
Dean ambled a few steps closer, tucking his hook and thread back into his leather duffel. “If you’re still up to it. I doubt we’ll ever get a chance like this again, considering our… situation.” His grim humor was unfortunately accurate. To even attempt talking to a human would put both brothers at risk. There was no way to know how that person would react. At least with Jacob, they'd already taken that first step, whether they’d wanted to or not.  
  
Jacob nodded in understanding, glancing over at the clock in the room. They could still make it out well before check out time, so he wouldn't have to deal with the jackass at the front desk. Other than the fact that Jacob still had no idea what he'd _say_ when he met this Bobby Singer guy, he thought things were going pretty well.  
  
He'd really started out behind. He was still making up for the day before, as far as he counted. He wondered if he ever _could_ make up for treating people that callously, but he was more than willing to try.  
  
"Alright, well, I've just got a few things to toss in my backpack and I'm ready to go," he answered, thinking he'd probably just leave his newspapers and things for the motel to handle. That plan left out an important piece, however; he definitely couldn't just carry Sam and Dean in his bag. That would be too dangerous.  
  
At a loss for ideas, Jacob finally shifted so he sat up straight and he shrugged, asking "So, how do you want to ... I mean, how should you get to the car and stuff?"  
  
Sam came up behind Dean, staring up at Jacob appraisingly as they both considered their options. It was a relief to hear that he wanted to know their opinions. There was always the chance that he'd still want to put them in the bag. It was a dwindling chance, after the more recent experience with him, but always a chance. He was big enough that he could decide what to do and never have to take their opinions into consideration.  
  
“The shoulder would work,” Sam offered, his eyes lighting up at the thought. It was perfect, in his opinion. “We can duck into your hood if anyone comes around. You'd never even know we were there.” He didn't mention the reason for that. It was obvious to everyone involved. Compared to Jacob's looming form, Sam or Dean could be passed off as an errant fold or wrinkle in the fabric.  
  
They were that small.  
  
Dean blanched. “Shoulder?” He grew a little white at the thought of being so high up under someone else's control. When he was climbing, at least he had the control. He'd be giving all that up.  
  
Sam elbowed him in the side. “You have a better plan?” he shot back at Dean, used to the fear of heights and knowing they didn't have many choices.  
  
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This better be worth it,” he grumbled to himself.  
  
Jacob glanced aside to his own shoulder. He sized it up, noting it certainly had plenty of room for the two standing on the table. He hadn’t even thought about it as an option, but it would work. He was broad shouldered, and his hood had more than enough extra material for them to hang on to.  
  
He grinned, looking back at the pair of them. “That’ll probably work, if you’re okay with it,” he conceded. He’d have to make sure he didn’t send them toppling. Jacob was pretty sure he would be able to catch them if they fell, but he didn’t want to test that theory. No mistake was worth the damage it could do to someone so small.  
  
To take his mind off the approaching prospect of having two entire people perched on his shoulders, Jacob pushed his chair back, ready to stand. Both brothers took a wary step back, their heads tilting up to follow his progress. “I’ll just pack up my stuff and we can get going.”  
  
Luckily, he didn’t have much strewn about. Jacob gathered his few belongings into his backpack and propped it on his shoulders securely before returning to the table. “Alright, well,” he began, noticing how much he towered over them, and knowing there wasn’t much he could do about that.  
  
He hesitated before reaching towards them, ready to help them up onto his shoulder.  
  
The reaction was instantaneous.  
  
Sam dodged back, his hand falling naturally to his jacket to get a grip on his knife. Dean hopped back an inch, his blade already in hand and leveled at Jacob’s approaching hand. He stood his ground with Sam at the ready behind him.  
  
“Whoa!” Dean said, throwing out his other hand palm-outwards to fend off the approaching hand. Sam braced himself with his knife held defensively. “Let’s get one thing clear, gigantor. We are not a set of toys you can pick up whenever you want!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob's trying, guys! He's just not used to smols yet ^^;
> 
> Sam and Dean aren't used to being around a guy that big just yet @.@ Everyone's going to need to work on adjusting.
> 
> Next: Coming June 9th at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment/kudos if you like! ^^


	12. Too Damn Tall

Jacob froze with his hand outstretched and raised his eyebrows as the motel room’s soft light glinted off the small blades. Two small cuts on his hand twinged, reminding him of how willing Sam and Dean both were to put those knives to use on him. He drew his hand back, surprise shifting to confusion.  
  
And finally, confusion shifting to guilt.  
  
Dean’s words sank in and Jacob wilted. “I didn’t … I just … I’m sorry,” he stammered out. He’d only planned to pick them up to move them to his shoulder, where they’d said they wanted to travel with him. He had no idea he’d get _this_ much of a reaction from them.  
  
He bit his bottom lip, knowing he was skating on thin ice with the small pair. After a moment of careful thought, Jacob turned his hand over and rested the back of it on the table nearly a foot away from them. He wouldn’t leave it close enough for them to stab at him while they were still bristled.  
  
“I thought I was helping,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Will this work better?” Even though the pair of them couldn’t really slap his hand, he felt like the equivalent had happened. He really didn’t think about what that might seem like to them. It was so much easier for Jacob to just go ahead and grab them. He needed to try harder to remember.  
  
Dean lowered his knife, continuing to watch the hand with a wary eye. He nodded slowly, approving Jacob’s new way of ‘helping’ them. “Just remember, we can’t exactly _stop_ you if you want to grab us,” he warned. “That is _not_ awesome.”  
  
With Jacob’s hand waiting patiently for them, the brothers both shared a glance before slipping their knives into their jackets in unison. Dean hitched his bag back up after the heart pounding moment, buying himself a few seconds to catch his breath. It didn’t seem like it was on purpose, but seeing such a huge hand come right at them both, one that they’d both been trapped by just the day before, had set their pulses racing.  
  
“Just, hold still, okay?” he asked Jacob, receiving a nod from the enormous human.  
  
Sam darted past Dean while he was buying himself time, and was the first to tentatively step up onto the living platform. Even though Dean wasn’t that far away, Sam looked _tiny_ with Jacob as his backdrop. The human was _massive_.  
  
And patiently waiting for the smaller man.  
  
Dean took a few steps forward, determination overriding his nerves at the height he’d stand at in bare moments. Sam was already there, and there was no way he’d let Sam face that situation alone.  
  
Of course, that was when Sam decided to shock Dean and Jacob both, and dart straight up the thick, muscular arm covered by the hoodie. Jacob tensed and his eyes widened. Dean sucked in a gasp of breath himself and darted over, jumping onto the hand.  
  
Too late, of course. Sam had always been a fast climber.  
  
While Dean took in a startled glance at the new surface he was standing on, Sam was already up on Jacob’s shoulder, staring down at Dean with a furrowed brow. He was seeing Dean from a new perspective as well, spotting how small his older brother, and therefore he himself, was compared to Jacob.   
  
The hand alone was bigger than either of their beds, with plenty of space to stretch out along the palm. A powerful pulse thundered beneath Dean’s boots, and he twisted in place to watch the fingers spaced around him with a wary eye, most of them longer than his whole body. “Sonova _bitch,_ ” he said, his voice quietly awed at the sight, and at the way he was standing there without danger of the fingers snapping shut.  
  
Jacob worked through his own shock. He'd just watched Sam speed up a rope, so he knew he was a capable climber. But he really hadn't expected to become the next obstacle to climb. The tiny weight on his shoulder was proof that he hadn't imagined it happening.  
  
His original plan was to wait until they were both on his palm, and then lift them the rest of the way up to his shoulder. Apparently they didn't even need that kind of help.  
  
Jacob was starting to think he should just stop being surprised, to save himself a lot of shock.  
  
After several seconds in which Dean did not repeat Sam's stunt, Jacob was unsure. He knew he wasn't supposed to pick them up without permission, but now he didn't know if that meant explicit verbal cues, or something else. Sam had just darted right up on his own. In the end, it left him with no idea what to do with the tiny man in a leather jacket standing on his hand.  
  
"Uh. Dean?" Jacob asked, looking at him with the question in his eyes. After his most recent scolding and near-stabbing, he wasn't taking any chances.  
  
“What?” Dean snapped, pulled out of the thoughts that came from standing on a hand that could close around him without a problem. He glanced up and saw Jacob’s questioning look, and right next to it Sam’s smirk. Dean scowled and took a step forward, determined to repeat Sam’s stunt and get himself up there.  
  
When he tried to take the next step, his boots refused to move.  
  
A glimpse of the ground far beneath Jacob had him stiff and motionless. There was no way to force his legs to move and willingly take him up the massive human’s arm. Dean grit his teeth and shut his eyes, trying again.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
Dean clenched his hands into fists, trying to force his muscles to move. But the built-in fear of heights, ever-present even after years of living so small, wouldn’t let him out of its thrall. “I don’t think that’s happening,” Dean said, his voice hitting a higher pitch than normal. “You, ah. Better do your thing, Godzilla.”  
  
Jacob's brow pinched and he pursed his lips, still uncertain. But from the sound of things, Dean wasn't as confident in his ability to climb up to Sam's perch the same way. Jacob barely resisted the temptation to look to the side to observe the platform he made; he could knock Sam down if he did that.  
  
"Okay," he said slowly, curling his fingers up carefully before moving his hand. He was wary of that knife coming out again and slashing at him, and did his best not to startle the little guy.  
  
It wasn't difficult at all to lift Dean's small weight, and yet it was one of the toughest tasks Jacob had ever encountered. There was an entire person on his hand, depending on him to not _drop_ him or let him come to harm there. Jacob had not given Dean any sense of security like that before, so he was determined to do his best now.  
  
He kept Dean held over the table for as long as he could as he lifted his hand in the air, fingers twitching minutely as he saw the tiny man sway from the motion. A small hand shot out and latched onto the closest finger to where Dean was standing, tiny knuckles turning white at the height. _Gotta be more careful._ Jacob moved his hand to his shoulder, bracing the edge against himself to leave no gaps for Dean to cross.  
  
Dean inched towards the shoulder, keeping his hand tight on the finger he’d grabbed for as long as he could. Every slight wobble in Jacob’s hand translated itself twenty times over to make the whole world feel like it was moving around him. He planted his boots on the palm cautiously, keeping away from the deeper wrinkles in Jacob’s skin to avoid stumbling and possibly pitching himself off the side.  
  
 _That_ would be embarrassing.  
  
He finally had to let go of the finger and dashed for the shoulder, hopping over to where Sam was waiting with no further ado. Dean let out a rattling gasp as he felt Sam help haul him up and keep him closer to Jacob’s neck, one of their few sources of stability, when he came to a halt. He sank to his knees, grabbing folds of the thick hoodie cloth in his hands to keep from tumbling off the side at the sight of the sheer drop that waited for them.  
  
“ _Way_ too damn tall!” Dean declared as he braced himself against Jacob’s neck. “Way, way too damn tall.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, but crouched down as well. “You think you’ll be able to make it?” he asked, concern overriding his usual amusement at how white Dean’s face had turned.  
  
Dean nodded haltingly. “Never better.” It was a lie, but it wasn’t like they had much of a choice in the situation. He wasn’t going to let Jacob just shove them in a pocket somewhere, not until they knew more about the human teen, at least.  
  
Jacob sighed. It wasn't the first time someone had a complaint about his height, but it was definitely the biggest disparity he'd ever had with anyone. He could feel the faint motions near his neck, almost tickling him. Once again he had to stop himself from turning his head and trying to see them.  
  
"It's all good genetics," he quipped in a low mumble, trying to take his mind off the fact that he probably really did seem like Godzilla to them. Godzilla with a hoodie and a backpack. He almost smirked at the thought, but his own nerves were kicking in.  
  
"Okay, well, I guess here goes nothing," he announced for the benefit of his passengers, one of whom sounded more than a little unsettled on his shoulder. It almost seemed like Dean had glued himself to Jacob's neck, and the faint tickle was extra noticeable when he remembered there was an entire person causing it.  
  
 _Holy shit._  
  
He moved towards the door, his strides long but perhaps not as long as they'd usually be. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, staring at the worn out wooden frame. Soon he'd step out into the daylight with a couple of tiny ninjas hiding out on his person. It was bizarre. "That gonna work for you guys?" he asked, before making another move.  
  
Sam glanced at Dean, who was almost flat against Jacob’s neck with the hoodie fabric clutched in his hands. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.” He slapped a hand against the neck behind Dean. “If I feel anyone looking at us, we’ll just drop into the hood. They’ll never even know we’re here. Easy as pie.”  
  
“Speak for yourself,” Dean grumbled. “Pie is a lot easier than this.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dude, after fourteen years, _how_ are you still this bad about heights?”  
  
Dean glared at Sam. “There’s a big difference between climbing a table and sitting six feet in the air on a _shoulder,_ Sam! So… eat me. I’ll deal. Just stop bringing pie into this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean, it's not his fault he's one of the tallest guys around. Just hang onto Sam, he seems to know what he's doing.
> 
> Dean: *clings*
> 
> Next: Coming June 13th at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


	13. Gone, Baby, Gone

Jacob was glad that Dean was too close to his neck to notice the smirk that grew on his face. The tiny banter was clearly audible to him now, and Jacob was a passive part of it just by being as tall as he was. The brothers had an amusing back and forth, and it was almost right next to his ear so he could listen in on all of it.  
  
He managed to hold back a chuckle and opened up the door. The near-noon light was as bright as it'd be for the day, and he squinted for a second before stepping out into the open.  
  
With an easy motion, a simple step, Jacob had carried them outside that imagined bubble of safety on his shoulders. Sunlight, only glimpsed through curtains and windows for over a decade, washed over them both, making them blink in an attempt to adjust to the unexpected brightness. So many years inside left them adjusted to the darkness. Bright light all at once assaulted them and left them blinded. Both brothers subconsciously moved closer to Jacob's neck, seeking out what safety they knew, as tenuous as it was.  
  
Sam had to rely on his sixth sense to know if anyone was watching during those moments he was blinded. Thankfully, Jacob wasn’t looking at him, so the human couldn’t interfere with the ability. No warning tingle came, so they didn’t have to dive off the back of his shoulder and into the dark confines of the hood. It would be safe, but also nerve wracking to travel like that, completely concealed by the human.  
  
Jacob made his way to the driver's side of his car, digging his keys out of his pocket and feeling like a huge beacon hung over him saying _Look this way!_ It could take just one glance at the right angle for someone to spot his tiny passengers. He couldn’t risk that. They were trusting him.  
  
He opened up the wide door of his beat up, two-door Mercury Cougar, slipping his backpack off his shoulders and tossing it into the backseat. His movements were halting, hesitant, and he barely breathed until he sat down in the driver's seat and closed the door with a loud slam.  
  
Jacob drew in a slow breath of the warm air trapped inside the car and heated by the sun, making it stuffy, and hastily started up the engine with a customary sputter. With the AC turned on and working to cool down the car, Jacob finally glanced up at the rear view mirror to check on Sam and Dean. “That wasn't so bad, right?” he asked a little breathlessly.  
  
The two brothers made a visible effort to relax. “Not so bad,” Sam repeated back to him.  
  
Though they’d only spent a sparse few seconds outside, it was the first time they’d actually ventured out of the motel ever since being cursed. Even the trips to the opening along the roof of the motel were still within the confines of the building.  
  
Since Dean wasn’t about to leave the side of Jacob’s neck and the one illusion of stability on the shoulder, Sam edged his way a few inches along the broad platform for some space, leaving his older brother still clutching the hoodie fabric. Both of them started to breathe easier in the safety of the car interior.  
  
Dean blinked at the surroundings, staring at the second, massive seat next to Jacob and taking in the roomy interior. With the driver side as far back as it would go, Jacob had no shortage of legroom. The cup holder down by Jacob’s side was roomy enough for both small brothers to stand in without a problem, and the gear stick would tower over their heads.  
  
“Looks like automatic transmission?” Dean mused out loud, distracting himself from the height with his own interest in cars. He could have been a mechanic one day, according to Bobby. “How many cylinders does the engine have? Four? Six?”  
  
Jacob smiled faintly, glad to hear that Dean was focusing on something other than his fear of heights. "Eight, actually," he answered. "Eight cylinders that try their best and automatic transmission. This is Mercury's answer to the Thunderbird." There was a note of amusement in his voice as he explained. The car wasn't even ten years old yet, but its previous owners had run it pretty hard, leading to a reliable car with definite signs of use.  
  
"Pretty good find for what I had saved up," he admitted absently as he picked up a folded map from the cluttered passenger seat. Jacob had paid for the car almost entirely on his own, trying to keep his mother from worrying about the cost of another vehicle. He was lucky he'd found one that was so good for being on the road as much as he was.  
  
He paused to open up the map and lean it against the steering wheel with a lot of rustling and paper rasping against paper. The vents behind it agitated the corners while Jacob found Haven and Sioux Falls in the middle of his Midwest road map.  
  
“Nice,” Dean said, suitably impressed with the quaint interior of the car. It was more low key than the Impala they’d grown up in, but had its own personality. Light brown plastic and leather adorned the interior, with the Cougar logo stitched into the back of the seats. From his vantage point, Dean could see an extra duffel bag in the backseat next to Jacob’s backpack. Dean recognized the look of a car that someone practically lived out of.  
  
Not that he’d ever trade a chance at the Impala for anything. He’d grown up thinking it would be his one day.  
  
There wasn’t a chance he’d ever be able to drive the enormous, black-and-chrome car anymore, but damn did he want to.  
  
Sam leaned forward, curiously reading the map that crinkled in Jacob’s hands. His hazel eyes were wide as he tried to take in every detail, every thin line denoting a backroad or a river. Dean knew that if Sam had enough time, he’d probably have his journal out to inscribe what he could in it, every little detail about their trip. As things were, Sam’s fingers twitched from time to time, clearly aching to dig out the worn book, but he held back with the assumption that they’d be on the road in no time.  
  
“Do you handle the repairs?” Dean asked, persistently curious about the human they’d entrusted their lives to. Every little detail counted.  
  
Jacob almost shrugged. He barely stopped himself, and winced as he was certain the two on his shoulder had to have noticed. If he didn't think before he moved, he could toss them off his shoulders by accident. An apologetic glance flickered to the rear view mirror.  
  
Dean had to force his hands to unclench from the fabric, his fingers entwined between the threads that made up the hoodie. The almost-earthquake of Jacob nearly shrugging his shoulders was a sharp reminder of their size and vulnerability.  
  
And the fact that Jacob _wasn’t_ taking advantage. At all.  
  
They were completely out of their element. If they had to get away from Jacob now, they were trapped inside a car owned by the human. There was no way in or out without his help. The doors were unmovable, solid barriers of metal that sealed them on the inside. Despite the way they clearly didn’t fit in, in any way, shape, or form, Jacob was treating them just like any other people he’d met, once he’d realized his mistake.  
  
"I do some of 'em," Jacob answered after a pause to make sure they were okay, nodding to himself as he picked his route and started to fold up the map. "If it gets a problem beyond something basic I'll have to get it to a shop."  
  
With the map out of the way, and the AC finally cooling the interior of the car, Jacob was ready to go. He gripped the steering wheel, pausing to take in what he was actually doing.  
  
Sam and Dean had been stuck in this motel for more than a decade. The only reason they could leave now was because Jacob had offered and they chose to put trust in him. It was imperative that he make sure that trust was in the right place.  
  
He put the car in reverse and checked the mirrors as he pulled out of the parking stall. "It's good for the trip, though, so I hope you guys are ready to go to Sioux Falls."  
  
Dean let out a breath and put a hand against the neck next to him. “If anything comes up on the ride, maybe I’ll be able to give you a hand. My dad taught me everything he knows. He used to run an auto shop, back before we hit the road.” He shifted his seat so his legs were dangling off the edge of the shoulder. “Trust me, we’ve been waiting for this trip for a long time.”  
  
Jacob grinned, feeling the slightest tickle from a tiny hand against his neck. He couldn't tell what Sam or Dean were doing without glancing at the mirror, and he didn't let his gaze wander off the road very much yet. But it did seem like they were settling in a little. He hoped that it meant they weren't sitting there in fear of him and just covering it up.  
  
"Well, it should be under eight hours to get there," he answered, also looking forward to reaching their destination. It might not be the very end of the brothers' search for their dad, but it was an immense leap forward considering how little they'd been able to do for so long.  
  
"Might have to stop for gas at some point but otherwise it's a quick trip. Then ..." Jacob trailed off, realizing that he didn't have a game plan set for when he actually knocked on the door at Bobby Singer's home. He hesitated before deciding that was a problem for later.  
  
"Then I just gotta tell your old buddy you're alive."  


* * *

  
For a while, Dean didn’t notice the time passing them by.  
  
He stared out the front windshield of the car, watching the road fly by under the Mercury’s wheels and listening to the wind roar past the immense car. Jacob unerringly followed the path given to him by his map, setting the brothers on course for a place they hadn’t been in years.  
  
Internally, the debate was raging about how much they should tell Jacob about what their dad and Bobby _did_ for a living. On the one hand, the kid deserved to know what he was in for when he knocked on Bobby Singer’s house. A paranoid, semi-reclusive hunter that dealt with the law to the extent of impersonating it.  
  
Of course, on the other hand, it would serve to shatter any normalcy that Jacob was clinging to. It was one thing to meet two brothers that had been cursed and help them find their family again. It was a whole different deal to learn that werewolves, ghosts and various other creatures were out there waiting to prey on the innocent.  
  
Every so often, a shift from Jacob would remind the smaller man that he wasn’t sitting on a seat in the car like a standard passenger. No, he was sitting on a shoulder a few inches from Sam, who’d forsaken the edge and was now leaning against Jacob’s neck, one leg kicked out and the other drawn up so he could balance his journal on it. It had taken him all of ten minutes of resisting before he’d given in and pulled out the book. As soon as he’d realized how smooth a ride it would be, it was all over. He didn’t have to worry about the journal being jarred from his hands and tumbling down the seat, lost until Jacob found a place to pull over.  
  
Dean didn’t bother asking Sam what he was writing. It wasn’t hard to guess. Not with this being their first outing in over a decade.  
  
As a highway sign passed by the car, flying down the road at an easy 80 MPH, Dean couldn’t help but lean forward, counting the mile markers before they reached Sioux Falls. He could almost feel himself being drawn there, the same way he’d been drawn to Jacob’s room the other day.  
  
It was, fortunately, an excellent day for travel. The sun illuminated the verdant Great Plains as the car sped straight through Nebraska, and Jacob only had to stop once to fill up the tank with gas. Since he'd skirted around the sprawling city of Omaha on his way, there wasn't even anyone around that might spot his decidedly unorthodox passengers.  
  
Jacob had driven roads like this for some time now, and he expected it'd be his lifestyle for many years to come. It was incredible luck that his drifting had led him to one specific motel in Haven, Kansas.  
  
From time to time, he'd glance over to the rear view mirror to check on the pair of brothers. It warmed his heart to see that they were relaxing on his shoulder, at least a little. He had no idea what it was like to sit there, but they weren't fidgeting like they were uncomfortable or nervous. He noticed that Sam even had a tiny little book out and was scratching away at it with what must be a piece of pencil lead that Jacob couldn't even see. Dean had an eager look on his tiny face, staring at the road ahead.  
  
Jacob had guessed correctly. Barely over seven hours since they set out late that morning, with the sky only just beginning to show signs of dimming for twilight, he pulled the car into the exit for Sioux Falls, South Dakota, slowing down as he left the interstate behind.  
  
"Okay, I should probably pull over somewhere and try to get my bearings to find the address," he spoke up, breaking the easy silence that had fallen over the three of them.  
  
Dean didn’t need to be told that they were getting close after hours of watching the road and feeling that familiar sensation of  _finding_ something he was searching for growing ever closer. Sam, on the other hand, gave a slight start at the deep voice that rumbled out of the wall he was leaning on and vibrating him in his seat. Dean had to hide a grin at that.  
  
Since Dean had taken the good spot on the edge of the shoulder, Sam scooted himself to the end so he could look. “Almost there…” Sam said quietly, still in partial shock that _any_ of this was happening, especially after the way their day had started out. Discovering that Dean was missing from his home and tracking him down to the human’s room… the _same human_ that had trapped him the day before, had certainly put Sam in a foul, apprehensive mood.  
  
Dean glanced to the side at Sam. “Maybe dad’ll be there,” he pointed out excitedly. “I feel like we’re getting close to something I’ve been searching for… maybe it’ll be him. I’ve never thought to try it on people… maybe it works the same way.”  
  
Jacob wanted to ask what Dean was talking about. He thought he might have inferred the general meaning, but at the same time he couldn't be sure of anything with these two involved. The thought was pushed out of mind as he pulled into an old unused lot to check his map again.  
  
He had to use a different mapbook for this one, finding a state map of South Dakota in a booklet he had strewn on the passenger seat. It included a few city maps, and thankfully the whole thing wasn't too outdated to figure out the general area he needed to be. "Maybe you'll be able to tell me where my turn is," he mused to Dean.  
  
The drive through the small city was uneventful, and Jacob was grateful for that. He wanted to save all of his energy for finding the salvage yard and confronting a complete stranger about some very heavy information.  
  
He managed to find what he thought was the place, a maze of junk cars and parts strewn in a wide lot with a house near the back. Jacob hesitated before pulling the mercury onto the long driveway and crunched along the gravel towards the house. He stopped and idled with his hand on the key, eyeing up the house.  
  
"What should I tell this guy?" he asked, uncertain.  
  
Dean hesitated for a moment, thinking hard about the question. His eyes trailed over the familiar junkyard, staring longingly at the massive hulks that filled it. He wouldn’t exactly be able to go outside and fiddle with the cars anymore, but maybe, just maybe, Bobby wouldn’t mind if he tagged along with him for some repairs or for stripping down a junked vehicle.  
  
The feeling in his chest that he was close to finding what he was searching for was even stronger now, an almost physical sensation that pulled at him. It was nothing like the tingle that Sam got, but it had never lead him astray.  
  
“First off,” Dean said, “I’m bettin’ we might want to be hidden when you get there. It ain’t everyday that people like us get found. Bobby and dad might be more prepared than most people for a revelation like that, but it’ll be a shock all the same.”  
  
He took a deep breath. “Bobby’s a hunter, but not your run of the mill hunter that’s out to shoot Bambi. Him and dad hunt the creatures that lurk in the dark. Like the witch that cursed me an’ Sam. It’ll be best if you tell him that. Keep it simple. You found two victims of a curse at a motel, and you need help. There’s no way Bobby could turn that down. That’s what he lives to do. Help people. Dad too, if he’s around.”  
  
The dismaying thought that poked at the back of Dean’s head kept trying to intrude.  
  
If he’d found what he was searching for, and John Winchester was in that house…  
  
Where was the Impala?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their journey nears its end!
> 
> Next: Coming June 14th at 9pm est. (I was off by one with the date last time, oops. I'll do better from now on XD )


	14. Bobby Singer

Jacob turned his head to look at Dean in the rearview mirror again. He didn't see any sign of joking from him, or from Sam. They were serious. Of course they were. They were victims of a curse and had no reason to make something like that up. _Witches and 'creatures that lurk in the dark.' Holy shit. When did I end up in a damn movie?!_  
  
"Okay," he answered, setting his resolve despite the unbelievable revelation. It wasn't that groundbreaking, after everything else he’d seen. Not after discovering not one, but two tiny people in his motel room. He killed the engine and pocketed his car key, taking a steeling breath. "Better get hidden, then. The hood ought to work, right?"  
  
He met their gazes in the mirror once more. His hand had almost twitched and lifted up to offer them his palm, but Jacob didn't have many places to hide them; he doubted they'd want to be in his hoodie pockets.  
  
He needn't have worried. The brothers were already thinking along the same lines. Sam elbowed Dean before sliding off the edge and out of sight. Before Jacob knew it they were both gone and he could feel a slight weight land down in the hood of his jacket. He couldn't feel them as well while they were there, so he moved carefully as he exited the car and slammed the door behind him.  
  
His heart and his footsteps seemed so loud as he stepped over the gravel in front of the house, and his boots made hollow sounds on the steps as he made his way up to the porch. He doubted that this Bobby could have missed his arrival by now, if the man was home. Even so, he rapped on the door with his knuckles, taking a deep breath and going over Dean's advised story in his head.  
  


* * *

  
Thanks to careful aim, Dean managed to land on Sam’s head when he reached the bottom of the hood. Both brothers went tumbling into the folds, and Dean considered his vengeance for the surprise elbow attack complete.  
  
Sam gave him a shove back as they both tried to right themselves in the dim interior. The grey folds of fabric didn’t let much light in, but it wasn’t a problem for them. Compared to the dark walls of the motel, the hood was a well-lit hammock. They could see each other without a problem.  
  
The entire hood swung in place as Jacob climbed out of his car, putting an end to any goodnatured roughhousing. Even the slightest movement from the huge human they were hiding on could jar them from their feet. Dean ended up leaning against his side, intent on listening to the outside world, and Sam tried to stand, threading his fingers into the fabric to stay in place in the oversized hammock of a hood.  
  


* * *

  
After the knocks faded in the evening air, the world was silent. The house itself seemed to be holding its breath along with the three waiting outside, watching to see what would happen with the two Winchesters that were trying to find their family.  
  
A dog started barking inside, and a stream of curses followed the booming noise as the person trying to get to the door was trampled over by the dog. “What the hell’s your problem, Rumsfeld?” made it out the door. Out of sight, Dean stiffened in place. Not far from them was a dog big enough to loom over a house. A problem that hadn’t occurred to him while he was trying to come up with all the possibilities for their revelation.  
  
Too late.  
  
The main door of the house swung open with a creak, revealing a gruff older man with a trucker cap on his head. He had a hand latched on a massive Rottweiler’s collar, trying to hold him back from jumping at their visitor. “Rumsfeld, down!” Bobby barked. He glanced up at Jacob with his soul-piercing blue eyes, raising his eyebrows at the size of the kid. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m not sure what’s gotten into him today. He never acts like this.”  
  
"No problem," Jacob replied, glancing down at the more than riled dog. He was glad that it hadn't managed to jump at him. The sight of its sharp teeth and twitching nose had him on edge. He doubted it'd be able to knock him over very easily, but all the same he didn't want to be jostled, not while he was carrying some of the most fragile people he'd ever seen in his hood. They needed someone between them and that animal.  
  
Bobby pulled Rumsfeld close so the dog couldn’t try to leap through the screen door. “So, what brings you to Singer Salvage Yard?”  
  
Jacob looked away from the dog to offer Bobby a nod and a faint smile of greeting. "Are you Bobby Singer? I was told you could help me. I was staying at a motel down in Kansas and I found ... I found victims of a _curse,_ " he explained.  
  
Jacob became a little concerned that this guy would think he was as crazy as he sounded. Walking up to some stranger's house and talking about curses in a motel? Who the hell would believe that?  
  
“I am indeed,” Bobby answered, narrowing his blue eyes at the youth standing on his porch. Rumsfeld growled, the hair on his back standing on end as he eyed the kid up himself. Bobby was glad for the gun he had on his person, just in case. He couldn’t be too careful, considering what he dealt with on a day to day basis. And this kid was _huge_.  
  
Bobby shoved open the screen door and practically pushed Rumsfeld out. “You better come on in,” he offered to Jacob, standing so Rumsfeld couldn’t reach him. “I have a feeling we’ll both feel better talkin’ about this kinda thing inside.”  
  
Jacob let out a quiet sigh, though there was still a wary tension in his shoulders. He wasn't ready to let his guard down yet, not with caution clear in Bobby's demeanor as well. He'd seen watered down versions of that look before. His height wasn't doing him many favors in the eyes of the older man.  
  
 _You think I look big to you, you should hear the nicknames_ they're _coming up with for me,_ he thought wryly.  
  
Jacob made his way in the door, never giving his back to the man or the dog barely restrained by the collar. It looked pissed. Hopefully it would calm down eventually. Jacob wouldn't feel right putting Sam and Dean at risk of being hurt by it.  
  
He stopped in the entryway, giving the area a cursory glance before focusing on Bobby again. "Thank you for the chance to explain," he said, genuinely grateful. "You're the best chance I got to help right now."  
  
Bobby closed the door on Rumsfeld’s face, leaving the Rottweiler outside to whine pitifully. “That’s m’ job,” he said gruffly as he stared up at the kid. The stranger was young, but he’d learned long ago that age didn’t have much to do with the hunting life. People got pulled into it from all walks of life, each with their own unique story. Some selflessly searching for ways to save others, others seeking vengeance for family and loved ones and saving people as a byproduct. Those types were best left on their own because of their habit of sacrificing _everything_ to the cause… including their own allies from time to time.  
  
Stepping away from the door, Bobby arched an eyebrow up at the guy. “So. You know who I am, and what I do. And I’ve never seen Rumsfeld act like that, not since…” He trailed off for a second, his brow furrowing. “Just who, exactly, are you, and what’s this curse you mentioned?”  
  
Jacob took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. A silence drew out into a couple seconds, punctuated by the shrill whine of the dog outside. He kept his thoughts on the faint weight in his hood, hardly noticeable. Sam and Dean were counting on him to get through to Bobby without getting kicked out of his house.  
  
He decided to start with the truth. "My name is Jacob Andris. I'm just ... I travel around looking for work. Paycheck to paycheck, y'know? I met two people in a motel in Haven, Kansas." He paused, thinking guiltily of how he 'met' Dean, and then Sam.  
  
They'd been unable to do anything as his hands closed around them. He could force Dean into a _coffee pot_ and meet no resistance at all. Even the cuts on his hand were pretty minor. The brothers were determined and it was admirable, but determination wasn't enough to save them.  
  
All because of that curse.  
  
"They told me they got cursed around fourteen years ago, when they were just kids. They gave me your name themselves, because they thought you'd be able to help." Jacob paused only long enough to take a breath. This revelation wasn't one he could draw out for the man, he was realizing. He just couldn't keep it in.  
  
"Their names are Dean and Sam Winchester."  
  
The names hit Bobby like a punch in the gut.  
  
Sam and Dean.  
  
Almost a decade and a half ago, he’d watched after those boys. Raised them like his own when their dad was too preoccupied with the hunt. Taking Dean out to the park to toss a ball when his father wanted him out in the shooting range. Giving the kid a chance to be a kid before his dad came back and hauled him back out into the hunting life where no child truly belonged. And little Sammy, always following his big brother around with bright eyes, trying to be just like Dean down to the clothes he wore.  
  
Bobby eventually remembered to start breathing again. All those years ago, John Winchester had blown into Bobby’s house after that fateful hunt, distraught about the way he’d lost his boys.  
  
Coming back to the room to find the witch, and nothing else.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He’d searched the town and the motel for a week before chasing her trail across the midwest. It had faded two weeks out, leaving just the ghosts of his boys in its wake to haunt his dreams. He’d crawled his ass to Bobby’s house and hadn’t left for over three months. Bobby had done his best to see if the net of hunters he worked with had any leads on the witch, but there was nothing. And there never would be, years later.  
  
“Haven, Kansas?” Bobby repeated. No one had known the name of that town aside from himself and John. There was never any  _reason_ to tell anyone else. “ _Balls._ ”  
  
His eyes were glassy as he glanced back up at Jacob. “What kind of curse?” he asked hoarsely.  
  
Jacob clenched his jaw and tried to erase the slight frown from his face. He was supposed to be delivering good news, after all. The brothers that everyone in their lives had thought dead were alive and well.  
  
Or, as well as they could be, considering what they'd been through at their new size. Including searching for food on their own, learning to climb heights that looked like cliffs, and capture by a human that could have taken things in a much more frightening direction.  
  
He was gladder than ever that he'd snapped out of it. "The curse shrank them," he answered. He held up a hand with his thumb and first finger around four inches apart. "They're about this big now."  
  
Bobby stared at Jacob’s hand. Suddenly, Rumsfeld’s reaction to the stranger made perfect sense. He’d had the same reaction to  _Bobby,_ after all. The one time Bobby had tried to go out to the field to see what the dog was up to, back when he’d first adopted Rumsfeld as the guard dog of the junkyard.  
  
It was like he was a man dying of thirst, lead to the edge of an oasis with no way to know if the water before him was a mirage or if it was real. “Littles,” he said in dumbfounded amazement. “They’re _littles._ You mean to tell me all these years later, and John couldn’t find his boys because they got changed into littles?”  
  
Movement up on Jacob’s shoulder caught his eye, and the second punch to his gut hit. A small man was standing there, above Bobby's eye level, wearing a leather jacket, jeans and boots and looking _so_ damn familiar while another guy climbed up behind him.  
  
Dean waved his arms. “Hey Bobby!” he called down with a huge-ass grin on his face as he saw one of their oldest friends in the flesh for the first time in over half his life. “We figured we were in town and we’d drop in for some pie!”  
  
Despite everything else, the sheer insanity of the situation, that familiar attitude had Bobby practically rolling his eyes. “Idjits,” he muttered. It was short lived, as the grin came back at the sight of the taller Sam standing next to his older brother.  
  
The smile was infectious, and soon Jacob sported it, too. The happy tone in Dean's voice was, of course, loud and clear with the man on his shoulder. Jacob stood still to make sure not to upset the brothers' perch up there.  
  
"You guys wanna sit somewhere, or are you good there for now?" he asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the brothers in the corner of his eye. He could imagine they'd want to get a little space after sitting on his shoulder for most of the trip, but he didn't lift a hand to them just yet. The lecture from that morning was still fresh in his mind.  
  
“I’ve… I’ve, ah, got a table over here if you boys want to get down…” Bobby practically found himself falling over his words at the sight of the two smaller men standing on a shoulder like it was a normal, everyday happenstance. “C’mon, Jacob, you too. I think we’ve all got some talkin’ to do.” He bustled into the study and over to his table, clearing off the huge tomes he’d had out earlier that day for research in an attempt to make space for the Winchesters to stand.  
  
Dean glanced at Sam, then to Jacob’s profile. He shrugged. “That’s as good a plan as any,” he offered helpfully, his face still stuck in a grin. “Damn, it’s good to be back here.” The rooms might tower over their heads, but this house had been their _home_ more than once.  
  
"Alright, then," Jacob answered, a chuckle finally making its way out of him. He followed Bobby into the other room, glad for a chance to sit. Even though he'd been sitting in the car all day, he had filled with adrenaline when it came time to reveal why he'd knocked on Bobby's door.  
  
He sat down carefully, ever conscious of the fact that _two whole people_ stood on his shoulder. He waited until he'd settled before lifting a tentative hand to them. "Want a lift?" he offered, still trying to catch a glimpse of them in his peripheral vision.  
  
Dean didn’t hesitate to step on, catching his balance with hands outstretched. It wasn’t so bad with Jacob sitting down, at least. And the height was furthest from his mind at the sight of Bobby, good ole’ Bobby, hale and hearty as the last time they’d seen him. Dean could still feel the tug in his chest, trying to pull him towards something in the house, or at least _near_ the house, but he’d seen no sign that Bobby had any other visitors around.  
  
 _Maybe dad’s out back, working on the Impala,_ was as hopeful as he could let himself get. Seeing John and that classic car would be the icing on the cake.  
  
“Hey!” Dean snapped when he saw Sam about to climb down on his own. “No way. This time you’re taking the express ride down with me.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “What, just because _you_ don’t want to climb down, I can’t?” Despite his words he bounded into the hand without argument, his footing more confident than Dean’s on the plushy surface.  
  
“Shaddap,” Dean muttered back at him.  
  
Bobby’s eyes probably couldn’t have gotten any wider at the sight of Dean confidently signaling to Jacob that they were ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobby and pupper!
> 
> Next: Coming June 16th at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment/leave kudos if you're enjoying! Does anyone else get irked they can only leave kudos once? I know I've done that so many times when reading new chapters. Lol.


	15. Dean's Inheritance

Jacob raised his eyebrows and nodded, impressed with the way they'd so easily gotten onto his palm this time. Last time there was hesitation, and wariness thanks to him nearly grabbing them. He held back a grin at the fact that he'd avoided the same reaction. Even if it was because they were excited to see their old friend, he could count it as some kind of progress on his part.  
  
His fingers curled like they did before, creating a sort of railing for the brothers and some extra security from falling. He ferried them to the recently-cleared surface of the table, feeling every shift of their tiny boots as they stood on his palm. It was still so incredible, so _fascinating,_ that he could hold two people on one hand like that. He'd only discovered them the day before; it might take a while for the novelty to wear off.  
  
He finally smiled again when his hand was flat on the surface. "There we go," he muttered.  
  
Bobby couldn’t stop from leaning in as they took a step off of the hand, his eyes wide at the sight of how comfortable they were with the entire concept of being held. Compared to the other littles he’d seen, they were almost the opposite in attitude. “Holy hell,” he almost whispered at his first close look at the boys. “I never thought I’d see the day.”  
  
Dean gave him a confident grin, though his chest fluttered a little at the sight of how much bigger their old friend was compared to them. In a way, seeing parts of their old lives come to life at such a massive scale rubbed in the fact that they’d been cursed. It was easy to imagine everything was still the same size when they couldn’t _see_ it like this. Just pretend the motel they’d been trapped in was some odd dimension where the humans towered above them.  
  
But no. They really were trapped at a percentage of their height, and Dean took it as a good sign that Bobby had given no sign of wanting to hunt them or take them out. He took a few confident steps forward, Sam shadowing his every move. In an unknown environment, with a giant behind them and a giant ahead, they wouldn’t be splitting up. They’d watch each other’s backs, just like they always did.  
  
“So, any ideas about curses that do this?” Dean asked, gesturing at his body. “Because I gotta tell ya, I’d love to go back to looking _down_ at things from time to time. Even if this one’s still a Sasquatch on his own.” He jabbed a thumb at Sam, still clearly the taller brother, even downsized.  
  
Bobby shook his head, trying to compose his thoughts. “Nothin’ I’ve ever seen. I mean, I’ve run into people your size--”  
  
“Are those the littles you mentioned earlier?” Sam interjected with a question.  
  
Bobby nodded slowly. “I ran into a few over the years. Some kids that helped me with a vengeful spirit in a house, and a man that got himself caught and locked in a cage up in your neck ‘o the woods in Haven. Let him go as soon as I found him and he never looked back at me.”  
  
“Really?” Dean asked, curious. “When was that?”  
  
Bobby closed his eyes, trying to think. “A few years before you boys were born, I’d say. Some bed and breakfast. Poor kid couldn’t have been over eighteen and he was stuck in that cage for days based on the state of it.” His eyes flashed to Jacob. “What about you boys? How’d you all meet up?”  
  
That replaced Jacob's hopeful expression with a guilty wince. "Well, that's a bit of a story," he admitted. He was the reason the brothers were here, and he'd made a lot of progress in knowing how to treat them. But, in truth, Jacob wasn't sure he could make up for how badly he'd handled things before.  
  
It wasn't a simple matter of calling it a mistake and moving on. He'd treated them like objects. He'd ignored Dean's demands until the man nearly broke down in tears and _begged._  
  
It was dehumanizing and it was wrong. No one should have to be driven to such desperation, and yet Jacob had casually nudged Dean right over the edge, without even a care for how he was acting. He always prided himself on being a decent human being, but he'd royally failed this time around.  
  
"It was only just yesterday. I actually caught Dean in my motel room when they were in there looking for food. I kept him trapped for a while and I caught Sam, too, when he showed up to help." Jacob couldn't look Bobby in the eye as he talked, and his glance only skated over the brothers before he looked away from them, too.  
  
Jacob's resolve strengthened again after a reflective pause. "Luckily, these guys gave this shithead a second chance and I offered to help them find their dad. I'm sorry for what I did and I'm working on making up for it." With that, he was able to look up again, ready to face whatever criticism Bobby might have for him.  
  
Bobby didn’t respond to Jacob at first, looking towards the two Winchesters after that disturbing revelation. “And after all that, you boys are okay?” he asked with a bit of concern in his voice. They didn’t _seem_ like they were trying to hide fear of Jacob.  
  
Dean held out his arms. “Never better!” he boasted.  
  
With a careful finger, Bobby nudged him in the side to check if he was hiding any injuries the way John was prone to do. Dean had always tried to be more like his father, no matter how different they were in reality. Sam wouldn’t get away with hiding any injuries at all with his older brother around, so at least he could rest easy on that front.  
  
Dean tried to bat the hand away. “Watch it! You’ll ruin the leather!” he complained.  
  
Bobby almost froze at the strange sensation of a tiny hand against his, barely able to make any impression against his skin. It was almost impossible to believe that _Sam and Dean_ were standing down on his table after so many years thought dead. Dean was small enough that a punch from him would feel like the faintest touch. Bobby's stomach churned at the thought of how vulnerable the pair was, yet they'd _survived,_ completely on their own for _years_.  
  
Once the hand was out of his way, Dean impatiently brushed off his jacket. “Jacob made some mistakes,” he conceded. “But I’d say he made up for them today. He hasn’t tried to grab either of us since, and took us all this way to find you.”  
  
A hesitant grin formed on Bobby’s face. So far, from what he’d seen of the kid, Jacob didn’t seem like he’d turn out to be dangerous to the brothers. Not after coming so far to help them try and find their family. And he’d listened to Dean’s directions on simple things, like lowering his hand down with them in it. “Sounds like you’re off to a good start on making it up,” he finally responded to Jacob. “If these two are standing up for you.”  
  
Jacob nodded, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. The casual acceptance had come as a surprise to him. The brothers may have accepted his hands and his shoulder as suitable platforms, but that could have been out of necessity. He was this close to beaming after hearing Dean's assessment.  
  
“Well, I gotta try, right?” he answered, both relief and sheepishness in his tone. “No one should have to be stuck like that. I'm just glad they could talk some sense into me.” _And slice it into my hand,_ he remembered, a slight sting in his hand reminding him of how ready they were to ‘talk some sense into him.’  
  
Dean jabbed a finger at him. “Trust me, if you backslide at all, we’ll be the first to letcha know,” he shot up at Jacob. He turned to Bobby. “So… we were hoping you might know where dad might be. Since, you know, he isn’t the easiest to find…” He trailed off, hope in his voice.  
  
That hope was dashed as Bobby shook his head in a resigned grimace. “Sorry, boys. No one’s seen or heard from John Winchester in a few years. He disappeared off the map back in ‘05 and that’s that. I’m not holding out hope on him reappearing after this long, but anything’s possible.”  
  
Dean’s shoulders slumped down, and he felt Sam’s hand on him for support. “Crap,” he muttered. All that distance Jacob had come, and nothing to show for it. He rubbed his face with a hand, feeling the stress hit him all over again like a ton of bricks … or maybe just one brick, at this size. “I thought… well… you see, I’ve got this weird sense, and it… usually I can tell if something I’m searching for is around. It’s what dragged me to Jacob’s room, and we found an entire slice of pie left out. And here… I just felt like I was being drawn here from about the halfway point. I thought… I figured it meant dad was around.”  
  
Bobby’s eyebrows shot up at the halting explanation. “Like some kind of psychic thing?” he asked in surprise.  
  
Sam shrugged and took over, knowing how uncomfortable Dean was talking about his knack. “We both got it after we got cursed. Dean can find just about anything and I can tell if anyone’s searching for us, or if anyone sees us. It comes in handy, when you have to find food or starve.”  
  
Bobby frowned, internally amazed at how long the pair had survived on their own. “You won’t have to worry about having to find food like that any more,” he reassured them. “One way or the other. And I might have an answer for what drew you here.”  
  
Hope blossomed back in Dean’s face and he glanced up again.  
  
Bobby motioned towards the backyard. “John might not be around anymore, but he left a little something behind a few years after you shrunk. Asked me to watch after it for him since he didn’t have a son to pass it down to… anymore. Might need some work…”  
  
Jacob tilted his head, unsure of what Bobby could be talking about, but his confusion could wait. It looked like Dean was eager to go and find out. Jacob lifted a hand and extended it towards the brothers again, offering it to the two small brothers standing on the table.  
  
"Well, should we go and see it?" he asked, despite not yet knowing what 'it' was. He was curious himself to find out what was evidently supposed to be passed down to Dean or Sam.  
  
Jacob glanced between the brothers and Bobby. After coming all this way to see their friend, they might want to hitch a ride with him instead. He almost drew his hand back to give them the option, but Dean's assurance rang clear in his head. They'd let him know if they'd rather stay out of his hands for a while. Jacob was just happy that he hadn't faced further lecturing for his poor behavior before.  
  
Dean hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the hand. As much as they’d wanted to see Bobby again, he _was_ still a giant to them, and they’d gotten comfortable with Jacob. It was a lot to ask someone to hop from hand to hand without a problem. Of course, if they were going to stick around at Bobby’s, they’d have to get used to him, too. Jacob wouldn’t stick around forever, after all. He had his own life to get to.  
  
Bobby stood as Sam got into the hand next to Dean. He shook his head slightly, a slight smile on his face at the sight of his boys, still _alive_ , and no matter how the odds were stacked against them, they'd found their way home. He glanced at the door. “Don’t mind Rumsfeld,” he told Jacob. “Now that I know you had _those_ two tagging along, it makes more sense now. The pup thinks people like Sam and Dean are part of his extended family or somethin.’ I saw a few out back in the field one day… and Rumsfeld spent the rest of the day chasin’ me away. He probably thought you were keepin’ them prisoner. He knows they don’t like people like us.”  
  
Dean looked incredulous at that. “A dog that _likes_ people our size?” he repeated dubiously. “Yeah, no thanks.”  
  
Sam, on the other hand, brightened up. “Does that mean he’ll let me pet him?”  
  
Bobby snorted. “Boy, I’m pretty sure if you asked right he’d chase me _an_ ’ Jacob off the property entirely.”  
  
Jacob's eyebrows shot up and he glanced at Sam. The calmer of the two small brothers didn't seem like the type to send them off like that. But it was impressive all the same hearing that he might be able to turn a Rottweiler the size of a building compared to him on someone. It brought a smirk to Jacob's face in spite of himself, imagining tiny Sam getting the dog to chase him off if he wanted to.  
  
Even against him, that'd be a _little_ amusing.  
  
He stood once the brothers were secure, lifting his hand carefully. He pursed his lips, trying not to make them sway, and ended up with them held near his chest for an extra wall to secure them. He was still getting used to carrying them, and he hoped the ride wasn't too bumpy for them as he learned.  
  
He let Bobby lead the way through the house. They passed through a kitchen. Jacob noticed with a bemused expression that one wall housed six or seven different phone cradles. He didn't catch all of the labels on them, but he could swear one said **FBI**.  
  
Soon enough he was headed out the door to the space behind the house. He glanced around, and his eyes settled on what he was almost certain had to be what Bobby was talking about.  
  
For the first time while standing on or in a hand, the height was the furthest thing from Dean’s mind.  
  
His hand was clenched in a fist against Jacob’s chest, a wad of the thick hoodie fabric gathered in the hand. He’d started out plastered against the towering wall of grey fabric, but with their destination in sight, Dean was leaning forward, the shirt fabric all that was keeping him from stumbling forward on the palm.  
  
Bobby reached the side of the car, its make and color hidden by the cover placed over it to keep the elements at bay. He grabbed onto the side, giving it a tug.  
  
The cover shifted, then slipped off, revealing the one constant in the brothers’ life all those years on the road. Even after losing their home as children, they’d never seen themselves as homeless so long as they were in that car.  
  
The Impala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something was pulling Dean to Bobby's, but it wasn't his father...
> 
> If you have any questions or ideas about the new series, or if you're just curious about what we're up to right now, hit up http://brothersapart.tumblr.com! There may be an announcement tomorrow for a story we're working on, so things may get interesting over on the site.
> 
> Next: Coming June 19th at 9pm est.


	16. The Impala

After years of being left on her own, the achingly familiar Impala’s black paint job was faded, and rust showed in a few spots on the fenders. Dust coated the windows, leaving a dull gleam where the setting sun touched them.  
  
None of that mattered to Dean.   
  
Paint could be redone, and parts could be fixed. All that mattered was the car was there, a car that he’d always dreamed would be his one day back when he was fourteen and _normal._  
  
Bobby abandoned the cover on the ground and stepped back next to Jacob. “John upgraded himself to some big-ass truck and left her with me. I did what upkeep I could, but between work at the salvage yard and tryin’ to keep these hunters from getting their asses handed to them, I never had the time to do much.”  
  
He glanced over at Dean, held in a hand far bigger than he was and suspended over four feet in the air. “Dean, all these years I’ve just been keeping her for her rightful owner to come back and claim. That car belongs to you more than anyone else. She’s yours.”  
  
With a brief look at Jacob, Bobby held out a key to the small man still clutching Jacob’s hoodie. Dean lifted his tiny, hard-to-see hands, wrapping those delicate fingers around the solid metal and taking the key for himself. He stared at the brass finish, a blurry yellow reflection of himself just barely visible in the old metal. He traced a nearly microscopic finger over the ridges of the key and held it close. Compared to his height at 3.8 inches, the key stretched almost three-fourths his length.  
  
It took Dean a long moment to gather himself again. The ache in his chest that had drawn him to the yard was gone. He’d found what he was searching for. Even if John was still missing, Dean had what he needed to find him.   
  
Someday.  
  
And maybe with a little help from someone who had legs long enough to reach the pedals.  
  
Finally wrestling his emotions under some type of control, Dean stared up at his old friend. Tears hid at the edge of his eyes. “Bobby… thanks.”  
  
Bobby smiled back. “Just take care of her for me, okay? She don’t deserve to be put out to pasture like that.”  
  
Dean twisted to stare up at Jacob. “Let’s give her a try!” he said eagerly, almost bouncing back on his heels.  
  
Jacob was looking over the length of the black classic car, admiring the retro style. Even the wear on it from years of neglect couldn't hide that it was a beast. He glanced down and realized Dean had spoken to him, and he had to grin at the eagerness in the little guy's stance. He looked ready to just hop right off Jacob's hand and start the car up himself.  
  
"Alright," he acquiesced, following Bobby up to the car. He paused to glance over the grille in the front, noting a buildup of grime and dirt. The car had been sitting there for long enough that it might not start up right away.  
  
He didn't voice this, instead choosing to be as optimistic as the man standing on his hand with the key clutched to his chest. The car might be a little worse for the wear, but in its prime there was no question that it was a powerful one. Without a doubt, more so than his Mercury.  
  
Jacob arrived at the driver door and squinted in the window. It looked like a layer of dust had settled on every surface, from the dashboard to the radio dials to the leather bench seat; the air in there probably hadn't moved in years.  
  
"Can I borrow that key from ya?" Jacob asked, tilting his head down to address the two on his hand.  
  
“What?” Dean glanced down at his hands, remembering what he had clutched in them. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”  
  
He didn't hand the key up right away, taking a moment to stare at the blur in the brass that made up his reflection. His baby. He had her back at last, and this time, she was really _his._  
  
No stipulations, no one telling him he was too small. He was John's eldest and the car belonged to him.  
  
With that thought in mind, the reminder that size shouldn't matter to the important people in his life, Dean held the key up for Jacob. “No putting any scratches on her, okay?” he asked seriously.  
  
Jacob chuckled, an easy smile coming over his face as he accepted the key from Dean with his free hand. He made sure he wouldn't topple his passengers with his motions and unlocked the door of the car, almost reverently swinging it open. It was just as well; the metal creaked and groaned after years of going unused. There was probably rust involved.  
  
The smell that all but burst out of the long-covered black vehicle was musty and strong. It was the aged scent of a day many years ago, when the cover had first been tossed over the sad, neglected car. Both small brothers covered their mouths with the sleeves of their jackets, gagging in the sudden, overpowering smell. With the light thrown across the bench seat from the open door, grimy windows be dammed, the car already looked like it had a new lease on life.  
  
Jacob stooped slightly to examine the interior of the car before he got in. He kept his hand steady in front of his chest, letting Sam and Dean survey the Impala from their perch. " 'Spose a little dustrag will clear this right up," he mused, brushing some dust off the steering wheel with his free hand.  
  
He finally sat down in the car, swinging his legs into the well and planting his boots just in front of the pedals. He left the door open, letting the insides air out as much as possible. After a cursory glance over the dials and dashboard, Jacob found the ignition and the key slid right into place.  
  
He turned the key, a simple angle of the wrist that would have required Dean to use his entire upper body to have the same effect. Not that he thought that would ever stop the man, from the determination in his bearing.  
  
A rhythmic, hissing grumble filtered out of the engine block.  
  
"Ah, c'mon," Jacob muttered, trying once more to get the car to start. It was no good; it simply couldn't turn over and he didn't want to grind on the ignition too much trying to convince it to change its mind. After so much neglect, he knew the problem could be anywhere.  
  
Jacob pulled the key back out of the ignition and carefully moved the hand with Sam and Dean in front of him so he could talk to them with greater ease. "Sorry about that, guys. Sounds like she just needs a little TLC after sitting around for so long." He held the key out for Dean in the meantime.  
  
Dean took the key back, holding it with tight fists like it was a buoy in the ocean and he was lost at sea. “That’s okay,” he said, nodding as though he could convince himself. “Dad taught me everything he knows, I can get her back up and running.” He stared longingly at the leather bench seats, wanting to take a rag to them already. “I’ll find a way.”  
  
Sam gave him a dubious glance. “How? We can’t exactly take the car apart like this.” He gestured with his arms at the open expanse inside of the car. It was the size of a cathedral, looming over them both. It would take them work just to get from the front seat to the back, never mind popping the hood and getting a peek at the engine.  
  
Dean glared. “I’ll figure it out! But I _can_ tell you, no one puts baby in the corner, not even dad. We’ll get her running like new, one way or the other.” And then, somehow, he’d find a way to get on the road and get back to the life he’d been meant to lead.  
  
Saving people, people like him that suffered at the whim of a curse or a witch or a spirit. Hunting things, all the creatures out there that lurked in the dark corners, waiting to tear out their victim’s heart.  
  
He’d find a way.  
  
For now, he just held the key to his chest, like an anchor to his old life.  
  
Jacob waited an extra second, to make sure their discussion was over. Then, he cupped his empty hand near the one they stood on, providing a more stable platform while he shifted to plant his boots in the dust just outside the open car door. He paused, glancing over at Bobby before deciding whether or not he should even speak up.  
  
He got over his hesitation in seconds. He was already there, anyway. "Well, hey," he began with a tentative smile, "I guess Bobby here is busy with his work and stuff, but _I'm_ not." He shrugged, then made an apologetic look when the motion agitated his hands slightly and set the brothers swaying in place. Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder to keep him on his feet with the key offsetting his balance.  
  
"Sorry ... anyway, uh. I could take a look at things for you, if you'll help me know what I'm seeing."  
  
Dean looked skeptical at the offer. “You want to help put the Impala back together?” He frowned as he considered it, crossing his arms over the key. “You know this means you do what _I_ say, right? No argument. I know this car like the back of my hand.”  
  
He sent a look of longing at the dusty black exterior, remembering the way she would gleam in the sun after John finished repairs. There really was no way he'd be able to take care of her on his own, and Bobby always had his hands full.  
  
“If you don't mind me being in charge, then I'd welcome the help.”  
  
Bobby smiled as he walked around the car to stand next to Jacob and his passengers. “If those two will have you,” he said, “I've got a spare bedroom where you can stay. Just make sure you don't get yourself underfoot while you're around.”  
  
Jacob sent Bobby a grateful look. Considering that they didn't know how extensive the repairs would end up being, finding a place in town to stay would have added up quickly and most likely eaten up the money Jacob had earned at his most recent job. He wasn't going to mention that, but Bobby's offer was very much appreciated all the same. As someone living job to job, finding a place to stay was always the trick.  
  
He looked back down at the stern gaze that was aimed at him from a man standing on his hands. A man holding a car key that was nearly as long as his whole body. Dean really defied all expectations. He was staring down someone around twenty times his size without any wavering in his stance. That took a lot of guts.  
  
Jacob's smile didn't falter, unfazed by Dean's doubt. "Hey, dude, like I said before, I only know the basics," he pointed out. "I'd be shit outta luck trying to fix this car up without knowing what I was supposed to do."  
  
“Don’t you forget it,” Dean shot back, letting himself grin at the idea. They might actually be able to get the car up and running if he had someone willing to do the heavy lifting for him. Size didn’t matter as much when figuring out where the problems were and how to fix them. In fact, being small might help him notice details that got overlooked by human mechanics. He’d be the first mechanic that could actually venture into the parts of the car to size them up, without need of a reverse mirror.  
  
Bobby waved at the trunk. “John’s old toolkit’s in the back, along with some other supplies he left with the car. Anything else you boys need, Dean should know where to find. He took my shelves apart enough as a kid, and that part hasn’t changed at all.”  
  
Dean shrugged sheepishly, feeling his ears turn red at the resurfacing of his childhood. He chose to ignore it as much as he could.  
  
Bobby cocked his head. “And what about you two?” he asked Sam and Dean. “I’ve got a spare bed for Jacob, but I’ve never had any littles stay over before. Or at least, none that I knew about.”  
  
The brothers shared a brief look, holding what seemed to be an entire conversation in just those quick glances. “We’ll be fine,” Dean declared. “We can find a place to hole up just like at the motel. Just don't stomp around too much.”  
  
Jacob smirked, remembering Dean's griping about him stomping around before. "I'll do my best but you might have to give me time to figure out how I'm gonna avoid 'stomping,' " he warned. Even if he tried to soften his steps, he was pretty sure they'd notice. Hopefully they'd at least humor him.   
  
Dean was just as unreadable as usual, looking almost lost in thought. It would be their first time since childhood staying in a place where the brothers didn’t have to worry about being hunted or caught by the resident humans. The thought was strange, almost alien after more than half their lives spent in hiding, away from grabbing fingers and greedy eyes. Yet here they were, standing on an enormous hand, and not once had Dean worried about it closing on him. He might write the confidence off as Bobby being close by, but it was something more. Jacob’s demeanor towards them both had them slowly relaxing their guard around him. If he wanted to try anything with them, he never would have brought them almost eight hours cross country to the one person they had left in their lives to trust.  
  
Dean might even be willing to overlook his startling and terrifying first impression of the kid if Jacob really wanted to help him restore the Impala to her rightful state.  
  
Jacob stood, leaving the Impala's bench seat for the moment and carefully nudging the door closed with an elbow. He did his best to keep his hand level for Sam and Dean, and held them closer to his chest so they could hang on if he was failing.  
  
He glanced up and down the length of the worn-down car, trying to assess the damage. It'd need a good polish and detailing, of course, but the slight rust didn't give him any indication of what might be going on in the engine.  
  
It might take him a few days.  
  
"I think maybe I better grab my stuff from my car if I can actually stay here," he mused aloud.  
  
Jacob paused before taking any steps to listen. It sounded like the dog had figured out where they all went and was on his way to greet them, so Jacob cupped his second hand near the small brothers to offer extra stability as he watched for Rumsfeld to round the corner.  
  
Sam leaned forward on the hand, eagerly watching for the dog. Rumsfeld bounded past the edge of the house, going straight for Jacob and the brothers. The Rottweiler was full grown, and had spent most of his life chasing out intruders and stray animals from the junkyard (and the field out back, but for his own reasons and not Bobby’s). His chocolate brown eyes were glued on the hands that held the two Winchesters up in the air. If anyone had actually been hurting them, he would have been growling and snapping and ready for a fight. As it was, his teeth weren’t bared, but there were 130 pounds of muscle running across the yard at two very small people. Compared to Jacob, the dog might not do more than bounce off him, but compared to Sam and Dean, he could easily throw them to the ground.  
  
Already prepared, Bobby managed to snag his collar before he ran over the teenager and sent everyone flying. He’d expected this reaction from the dog, and steeled himself. He was only pulled forward a foot from where he’d started, boots scraping along the gravel.  
  
Rumsfeld whined, trying to strain and reach the brothers. Sam put a hand on one of Jacob’s fingers, using it to hold himself in place while he waved at the dog. He glanced up at Jacob. “Can we pet him?” he asked eagerly, completely ignoring how pale Dean had turned at the sight.  
  
"Uh," Jacob replied helpfully. His eyebrows were raised and he was still on edge from watching a huge Rottweiler come barreling right for him. He wasn't sure what would have happened if Bobby hadn't grabbed the collar in time. He liked to think he'd be quick enough to keep Sam and Dean from being knocked around, but realistically he wasn't accustomed to them enough for it. He'd rather play it safe.  
  
"Hey, man, that's up to you guys," he replied, relaxing a hair as the dog didn't bark at him or show signs of outright aggression. Rumsfeld's nose was twitching at him, and those eyes were fixed on his hands. He just wanted to check on the ... _littles_ , as Bobby called them.  
  
Jacob did notice belatedly that Dean also had a singleminded focus on Rumsfeld, and it wasn't delighted like Sam's. "Doesn't look like you're up for dog kisses at the moment, Dean,” he pointed out.  
  
“Would you be?” Dean sputtered, trying and failing to hide how nervous he was to have a dog with eyes bigger than his head eyeing him up.  
  
“Do you, uh, want some higher ground?" Jacob offered tentatively.  
  
Dean was exasperated, still rambling about the dog and barely noticing that Jacob had said a word. “He’s the size of a freakin’ house! At least when Sam brought home a _mouse,_ it couldn’t try and _eat_ me!”  
  
Sam snorted at him, rolling his eyes. “ _Dean._ He’s not going to do anything.”  
  
“You keep telling yourself that,” Dean said, one hand clutching the hoodie fabric behind them, “and _I’ll_ be up high. Where it’s safer.”  
  
Rumsfeld whined, lowering his head sadly.  
  
Jacob pursed his lips to hide his smile at the quick banter between the two brothers. Since Dean was dead set against letting Rumsfeld near him and Sam was determined to pet the dog bigger than a building, Jacob would have to meet them halfway.  
  
"Here, we'll do this," he mumbled, shifting his hands beneath their feet gently. When he saw that they got his plan, he lifted one hand with Dean closer to his shoulder so he could hide out up higher, away from the huge canine. Dean took his idea instantly, jumping up and climbing the last few inches to get away from the hand. The other hand Jacob lowered cautiously, fingers still curled like a railing.   
  
"Hey, Rumsfeld," Jacob greeted, keeping a calm demeanor for the Rottweiler's (and the brothers') benefit. "Hey, boy. See, there's Sam, doing just fine." _No need to chomp my hand off or anything._  
  
Rumsfeld strained at his collar and managed to drag Bobby the last few steps to where Jacob’s hand was. He didn’t leap at Sam at all, just inched forward until his nose bumped against Sam’s chest, leaving  a wet spot in its wake.  
  
Sam ignored that and let out a laugh, thrilled to finally get to see a dog for the first time in years that he didn’t have to be afraid of. “See? I _told_ you we’d be fine!” he called up to Dean as he leaned over the dog’s snout to give him a good pat. Compared to the dog (and Jacob), Sam’s hands were incredibly small, but they got the job done. He stroked the fur right under one warm chocolate brown eye, grinning at his reflection there.  
  
“I’m fine up here, trust me!” Dean called back down, standing back on Jacob’s shoulder. He kept one hand braced against the back of the teenager’s neck to help with balance. “I’m not turning into puppy chow!”  
  
Rumsfeld whined again, rubbing his head slightly against Sam. Sam laughed. “Just ignore him,” he told the dog. “He’s still mad that the mouse I brought home decided to use his bed as a nest and messed up his side of the room. He’ll come around, trust me.”  
  
With Dean perched safely, Jacob had a hand free again. He reached forward cautiously, letting Rumsfeld notice his hand enough to promptly ignore it in favor of nudging at Sam. Jacob chuckled and scratched behind one of the dog's soft ears, careful not to jostle either of his passengers. He wasn't sure how Dean was holding up since he couldn't see him, but at least Sam seemed okay.  
  
He thought briefly that, if Sam had adopted a mouse at some point, it might be as big to him and Dean as Rumsfeld was to Bobby or Jacob. The brothers lived in what had to seem like an entirely different world. Jacob couldn't wrap his head around what things must look like for them.  
  
"What do you say, Rumsfeld, do I pass inspection for you?" he asked, thinking that if he did, it'd be his easiest test yet. Getting Sam and Dean to trust him was a bit of a steeper climb, but Jacob was willing to try.  
  
Sam grinned, giving the dog one last, big rub. “What do you think? He’s a little big, but he followed us home. Want to keep him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If a giant followed you home, wouldn't you keep him?
> 
> Next: Coming June 21st at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment or kudos if you enjoy! :D


	17. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Rumsfeld gave Jacob an intent stare. His grumble turned into a yawn, displaying teeth that could reach half the length of Sam’s arms. Dean tensed in place on the shoulder, ready to dive down and help his brother, but the maw snapped shut and Rumsfeld sat down so he could nuzzle Sam some more. Jacob and Dean were ignored completely in favor of the one giving him actual attention.  
  
It didn’t look like he was about to try chasing off the human teenager anymore, so Bobby let the collar go and straightened. “Looks like you pass inspection,” he said dryly, internally noting that Jacob had only passed once Sam had spoken up for him. It really did seem like the dog considered them his family, perfectly willing to defend them. Problem was, Sam and Dean didn’t act like the others in the field, derailing Rumsfeld’s original intention of ‘protecting’ them from the humans.  
  
Jacob smirked at the dog, now apparently disarmed by Sam's soft words. He gave Rumsfeld a few more scratches behind the ear before letting him focus on his new little friend. With his spare hand shoved in his pocket, Jacob stood steady and patient, the earlier tension already gone.  
  
"Looks like it," he mused. "Good thing, 'cause I don't think I'd make much progress on the car if I wasn't allowed near my mechanic here." He tilted his head slightly, indicating the man standing on his shoulder, who was warily watching Sam and the dog from his safe perch.  
  
Inwardly, Jacob beamed. Sam's simple words of acceptance may have been more to keep the dog from deciding he needed to attack Jacob, but all the same they felt good. Even after trapping his brother, Jacob had gotten some of Sam's acceptance, too.  
  
“Screw that,” Dean muttered to himself. “My baby is getting fixed one way or the other.” He ran a hand over the key tucked against his side before having to shift position on Jacob’s shoulder. Giving up on keeping balance on his feet, he took a seat using Jacob’s collarbone instead. He kept one hand on the neck the entire time. “C’mon, Sam, it’s getting dark,” he pointed out helpfully, starting to hope that they’d either get to eat dinner or find some time to raid the cupboards.  
  
Sam deliberately let the dog nuzzle him one last time just to irk Dean, then tried to push the warm nose away. “Later,” he promised, already determined to spend more time with the dog. After years of thinking that any dog would be dangerous to go near, he’d resigned himself to having no more than a mouse as a pet. Not that he’d ever complain about mice, they were friendlier and more helpful than most humans and the one he’d adopted for a few weeks (to Dean’s unending consternation) had continued to return to their home, bringing trinkets or food for the brothers when pickings were slim.  
  
Rumsfeld let up at last, loyally watching after Sam as he brushed his tan jacket off. Bobby, still watching everything from the sidelines, was quietly impressed with the way the younger Winchester had handled himself, surrounded on both sides by giants. Sam’s demeanor was unflappable, an easy difference between him and Dean.  
  
Jacob waited patiently for Sam to fix himself up again after being nudged by a dog the size of a dragon to him. Then, he cautiously lifted his hand higher so Sam could join his older brother on a perch on his shoulder. It seemed to be a good place for them; they could hang on with ease, and shout instructions at him with even greater ease.  
  
Up that high on the huge teen's shoulder, they could also see everything from a perspective closer to what most humans had. Jacob wondered what that felt like after so long at their shrunken size. Even though they were just barely noticeable there, tiny weights on his broad shoulders, they were two entire people. They did nothing to deserve all those years in the dark, low to the ground. Hiding for their own safety.  
  
Jacob gave Rumsfeld one last pat on his head before turning to Bobby. "Well, uh. Thanks again for letting me stay here. Lead the way?"  
  


* * *

  
After the admittedly-strange group filed inside, it didn't take long for them to reach a consensus that it was time to have dinner. Despite not expecting any company, Bobby was able to rustle something together.  
  
It helped that two of his guests were the size of a finger.  
  
Partway through the meal, some of Jacob's curiosity broke through the polite dam that he’d built up. He'd held in so many questions throughout the day, and he thought he might have a chance to actually ask one without getting snipped at too harshly by now.  
  
"So ... where'd you guys get all the leather, anyway? I've never seen anything like it.”  
  
Bobby perked up a little at the question, equally curious. He didn't want to make the brothers nervous any more than Jacob did, and all of his previous experiences with people their size had shown how wary they were around humans.  
  
Yet these two had been willing to let a human take them hundreds of miles cross country for a chance to find their father. Their trip might not have ended the way they'd hoped, but it had gotten them out of the motel they'd been trapped in and back amongst friends.  
  
The meal was sparse but filling. He'd had to dig through his cans, but he'd ended up with baked beans and hot dogs. The brothers had a small plate of their own, spaced away from where the two humans were eating. They only had a hot dog, since the beans would be too messy without utensils. Both studiously ignored Jacob and Bobby whenever they took a bite of their meal, and considering that a single bite could come near to the same size as they were, it was understandable.  
  
It was also the first time the brothers had been able to use condiments in _years_. Jacob and Bobby had forgone the ketchup in order for Sam and Dean to share the last drop in the bottle. Sam dipped a shred of hot dog into the red puddle, eating it with his wide hazel eyes glued on the human teen while considering the question.  
  
Rumsfeld was curled up around Jacob's legs. After determining that the two smaller people were being carried around by the huge teen, he'd attached himself to him in order to look after them more closely. Whenever they were in sight, he wouldn't look away from them, occasionally whining when they stood with a human.  
  
Sam swallowed his latest bite and wiped his hands off. "It's rat leather," he told the humans.  
  
"Sam..." Dean growled, the warning in his voice clear.  
  
Sam gave him a bitchy glare back. "Dean, I don't think, after everything we just went through, they're going to go back to the motel just to hunt others down. Right?" He directed his question at Bobby.  
  
Bobby held up his hands placatingly, dropping them fast when the pair both tensed. It was hard to remember how easily an innocent gesture could be misinterpreted. "I'm not about to go huntin' a bunch’a innocents. The whole reason I never told John about people like you was to keep him from goin' after them."  
  
Dean scowled at the thought of their dad going after innocents like them, but didn't say anything.   
  
Sam took that as his cue to go on, bravely meeting Jacob's eyes again. "We got adopted by a family, and Walt, who saved us from the witch, is a tanner. We'd help him take down rats in the motel. He made our boots and our bags." He pointed at Dean's leather jacket. "The rat _that_ came from was one of the biggest ones we took on. I think... it'd be more like a bear, if we were normal sized."  
  
Jacob blinked slowly, pausing to make sure Sam was done with his story. A story that Jacob decided was _awesome_. He grinned and lowered his fork absently to his plate, focused on the two small brothers now.  
  
"Holy _shit,_ you guys! That's completely badass!" he exclaimed, though he did remember to keep his voice lower. He didn't need to shout at them to let them know how cool he thought it was.  
  
Jacob had a new appreciation for the leather they wore, in their boots and bags and Dean's jacket. He remembered the little knives they always kept concealed on them. Those weapons, kept sharp and clean and vicious, _had_ to be at the ready like that. A rat was fast and bulky compared to their slight frames.  
  
 _Like fighting a bear. With knives. Jesus Christ on a unicycle. Mini monster fighters._ Jacob couldn't get rid of the awed smile on his face, though it did become slightly sheepish as he realized he'd begun to stare. He turned his gaze back to his plate.  
  
"Sorry. That's just really cool."  
  
Sam’s ears turned red and he stared down at the plate he was sitting next to. Dean, on the other hand, basked in the unexpected praise. With Bobby or Jacob able to dispatch a rat with one hand or hell, just by _stepping_ on it, the last thing they ever expected was to impress one of the humans.  
  
“That’s right,” Dean said confidently. “Walt had us keep any rats out of the motel. He got the leather, we all got some fresh meat if the rat was healthy, and pest control never got called.”  
  
Bobby arched an eyebrow down at them. “Trails West, right?” he asked, getting a nod out of Sam and a predictable scowl from Dean. “I’ll keep an eye on that place, in case any hunters get wind of it or pest control _does_ get called.”  
  
“Thanks Bobby,” Sam said, elbowing Dean until he got an echoing thanks out of his older brother.  
  
Dean turned away from Sam, more interested in talking to Jacob, who seemed enamoured with their story. “Dad and Bobby taught us how to fight,” he informed the teen. “Back before we got cursed. I want… _wanted,_ ” he corrected himself severely, “to be a hunter just like dad… even made the knives me an’ Sam use the year before we got cursed. They’re silver, just the thing to take care of werewolves with if you run out of silver bullets.”  
  
Jacob nodded, understanding despite his brief pause over the fact that _werewolves_ apparently existed. The knives had been made before the two of them shrunk down. That explained why they were so well shaped on such a small scale. Jacob doubted even the best craftsman could make such a tiny blade so sharp. Jacob sported the marks, so he knew very well how vicious those little knives could be.  
  
"Sounds like the kind of work that'd keep you guessing. I never realized there could be so much out there, and I go all over the place for work," he mused aloud. At the very least, he would think that local rumors would reach him.   
  
He wished he knew what to say to the clear bitterness underlying Dean's words. The small man couldn't go out and fight like he used to, like he clearly _wanted_ to. It wasn't safe for him to even be out in the _open_ with other humans around. Dean's plans had come to a dead end fourteen years ago, and that clearly still stung. At least he'd have the car repairs to keep his thoughts busy for a little while. Maybe it would cut away at that deep bitterness.  
  
“We lived on the road,” Sam said, his ears still slightly red. Hopefully Bobby and Jacob were too big to notice. “Dad took us from case to case after our mother was killed. Vengeful spirits, poltergeists, werewolves…” He trailed off.  
  
“Witches,” Dean finished, remembering their last fateful case. “And cursed objects. People write off strange deaths and disappearances but there’s _always_ a reason for them. People don’t just die and fade away.”  
  
“Other people just stop looking,” Sam said sadly, picking up the train of thought. Dean wasn’t the only one that wished he could keep others from going through the same hell that they had.  
  
Even Bobby couldn’t meet their gazes after that, guilty that he’d been one of the people who’d given up all those years ago. Sam and Dean could have been saved, if they’d just figured out what had become of the boys.  
  
Jacob couldn't wrap his head around it. He knew that, too. There was no way he could really get the way that had to feel, surviving something so catastrophic but having _no way_ to contact family. Sam and Dean had to live with that every day for fourteen years.  
  
Sneaking around, scraping by, listening to and feeling the humans stomp around above them. Knowing that almost everything was pretty much a phone call away to most of them while the family hiding in the walls had to go without sometimes, just because getting something they needed was impossible. Money had always been tight for Jacob growing up, but things had never been _that_ dire.  
  
He'd very nearly gone and become part of the problem himself. The way he'd acted merely a day before still stung in his mind. It wasn't fair or right, and it only cemented his resolve that he should keep helping them if he could.  
  
"I'm ... I'm sorry," he mumbled, unsure of what else he should say in the face of the unexpected flare of emotions from both of them. He hadn't seen anything like this out of them since he grabbed Sam and made Dean fear he'd lose his little brother.  
  
Dean stood abruptly, the key tucked under his arms again. “Yeah, well we made it _fine_ ,” he snapped angrily. “It doesn’t matter if we’re stuck like this, there’s always a way. We’ll get the Impala fixed up and we’ll _figure it out._ ”  
  
He stalked towards the edge of the table between Jacob and Bobby and yanked out his hook. The tip got wedged into a crack in the wood.  
  
Bobby couldn’t help leaning forward a bit. “Dean, what are you…”  
  
He was cut off with a poignant glare from the cursed man. “We’ll need a place to stay,” Dean snapped, “so that’s what I’ll go find! Don’t worry, we’ll stay out from underfoot. We _know what we’re doing._ ”  
  
The key was kicked from the top of the table, clattering down on the floor. Rumsfeld nosed it curiously, staring at the black thread that was dangling a foot from where he was lying on the floor. Dean slipped over the edge, climbing down in his halting, hesitant way.  
  
Sam bounced to his feet after Dean’s tantrum. “Sorry!” he said in surprise. He glanced back at Jacob, giving the surprised human a worried smile. “Thanks, really. For everything. I… I should go.”  
  
He grabbed a few slivers of the hot dog and wrapped them into cloth parcels. “We… won’t disappear Bobby, promise. I’ll… see you two later. Tomorrow.” With that, he followed Dean’s example, darting towards the hook before his older brother could flick it free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least they're talking...
> 
> Next: Coming June 23rd at 9pm est
> 
> Comment or kudos if you're enjoying! Or if you have any ideas >w> The blog's askbox is always open.


	18. A Much-Needed Rest

Jacob watched them go with widened eyes, keeping stock still. Once they were out of sight, he was especially careful not to move around in a way that'd be dangerous to the pair climbing down from the table. The single-barbed hook eventually flicked away from the edge without a protest from Jacob, and he glanced sheepishly away from it.  
  
While he returned to his dinner, he mused absently about how swiftly things had turned. He was sure he'd said the wrong thing somewhere along the line, but pinpointing that would be hard; it wasn't exactly something he overthought very often.  
  
 _Well, shit,_ he thought, some disappointment driving the unspoken words. He'd thought he was making progress with the brothers.  
  
Sam had relaxed quite a bit since they met. He even seemed open and friendly with Jacob. Dean was quite guarded, however, and Jacob supposed he couldn't blame him. The man had been trapped in a coffee pot for no reason barely more than 24 hours ago. That kind of thing stuck with people. It was silly for Jacob to think he’d win Dean’s friendship after something like that.  
  
At least he'd be able to help with fixing the car before he got out of their way.   
  
It was for the best.  
  


* * *

  
Dean stalked off before Sam managed to flick the hook from the table, leaving his younger brother to catch the falling hook.  
  
“Dean, wait up!” Sam called, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.  
  
Everything had been going so well.  
  
Managing to coil the coarse black thread loosely around his arm, Sam darted after his older brother, leaving Rumsfeld sniffing the air in their direction. The dog watched them go, leaving them be the same way the two humans above did. The two pairs of boots sitting at the table didn’t even move. It seemed the brothers were getting the space they wanted, though not the way Sam wanted it with Dean so clearly upset.  
  
Catching up at last, Sam tried to grab Dean’s shoulder and ended up just getting shrugged off. “Dammit, Dean,” he grit out, matching Dean’s stalk. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  
  
When they got to the hall, out of sight of the others, Dean whirled around. “What do you _think_ I’m doing?” he snipped, snatching his hook back from Sam. “We need somewhere to stay for the night, and I don’t know about _you_ , but I don’t want everyone else knowing where we are. They’re _dangerous,_ Sam, friends or not!”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes to the heavens, praying for the patience to deal with Dean’s intransigence. “Look,” he said, keeping an even tone. “We’re in a house with _Bobby._ Rumsfeld is watching out for us, and Jacob’s not such a bad kid. He’s _trying,_ Dean. He is. You just have to give him a chance.”  
  
Dean scowled. “You don’t think I know that?” he spat angrily. “I just don’t need anyone’s _pity,_ okay? Not his, not Bobby’s, not dad’s. We can handle ourselves.”  
  
Sam’s look softened. “Dean, no one will think less of you if you let someone else help for once. I promise they won’t.”  
  
Dean didn’t respond, simply shoving his hook into his duffel and hitching the key up. “You comin’ or what?”  
  


* * *

  
Bobby sighed in a distant fashion, somehow not surprised at how the night had ended. “Don’t go blaming yourself,” he told Jacob, spearing his last piece of hot dog with the boys out of sight. “There’s nothing more stubborn in this world than a Winchester that gets an idea in his head. Dean’ll come around, just you wait.”  
  
Jacob chuckled. "I suppose," he answered. He had already seen glimpses of the stubbornness to be found in those brothers. Hell, the fact that they'd willingly hitch a ride with him to find their dad spoke of their sheer determination. How many people would be bold enough to let someone so much bigger take responsibility for them?  
  
"He even came back after I trapped him," Jacob admitted. "He _really_ wanted the pie I had in my room."  
  
Bobby gave a laugh at that, shaking his head ruefully. Dean and pie, always a troublesome combination. Some things never changed.  
  
After finishing up dinner and helping Bobby clear away the plates from the generously offered dinner, Jacob left the house briefly to grab his backpack and duffel bag of his belongings. For his shorter road trips, he only used the backpack, with extra clothes in the duffel for when he actually found a place to settle for a while; the salvage yard was looking like it'd be his home at least until he fixed the Impala.  
  
He rummaged briefly through his bags to make sure everything was in order, but then had a thought. He left both of them on the floor of the spare bedroom, the duffel bag sitting wide open, and left to ask Bobby which of his numerous phones he could use to call home and let his mom know he found work restoring cars.  
  


* * *

  
After Jacob left the bedroom to trudge downstairs, footsteps shaking the ground under them, Sam found himself trailing after Dean with a resigned look on his face.  
  
They’d searched through a few of the rooms, and managed to find pathways already created in the walls. Travel was slow, due to their size, but it was safe. Rumsfeld had abandoned the humans and come poking around for the brothers, but they were out of his reach. He gave a few wistful scratches at the wall (with the result of Dean scolding him through the wall for giving away their position), and settled down for a nap until they came out.  
  
Of all the rooms in the house, they’d found the perfect place to sleep right in Jacob’s room.  
  
The library downstairs was nice, with lots of hidden spots behind the books where they could rest for the night. The problem was, any of those books could get grabbed at any time, and Dean had no interest in actually _telling_ anyone where they holed up for the night. It was easier to protect themselves if they were completely hidden, and that included hidden from Jacob and Bobby.  
  
Rumsfeld had made himself an exception with his annoying habit of sniffing them out wherever they were - even in the walls.  
  
The passages and shelters in those walls were hidden and well-defended, but sparse. They’d have nothing to sleep on and no real way to get enough supplies to block off the entrances to guard against bugs or rodents. Bobby’s house, as nice as it was to be in a place where they didn’t have to worry about the human occupants, was still an unknown. Anything could lurk in the dark corners. Even the occupied rooms were dusty and worn and inside the walls was no exception.  
  
Jacob’s room was perfect.  
  
The bookshelf in there was huge, taking up most of the wall to the side of the entrance door. Dusty tomes lined the shelves, the pages rustling whenever an errant breeze passed by. While Jacob had dropped off his bags moments before, the brothers were inspecting the space _behind_ the books… just big enough for the pair to use as a place to sleep.  
  
“You sure, Dean?” Sam asked with a tinge of resignation in his voice as he followed his older brother up the huge bag.  
  
Dean shrugged. “It’s just one shirt. We’ll have it back before he even notices it’s gone,” he pointed out. He snagged the edge of the fabric, trying to haul it out on his own. “C’mon, slowpoke. Give me a hand before he gets back!”  
  
Sam sighed and grasped the shirt. Together they tugged, trying to get it free of the bag. It didn’t give at all at first, so Sam dug his boots into the canvas fabric. Dean grunted next to him, redoubling his efforts.  
  
It popped free.  
  
Both brothers went sprawling, a huge t-shirt landing atop their small bodies like an errant parachute. A muffled “Sonovabitch!” could be heard from one of the squirming lumps as it made its way to the side. Spiky, dark blond hair stuck out first, followed by eternally aggravated green eyes. Once out, Dean started to drag the shirt, sending Sam tumbling all over again when he didn’t get a warning that everything was about to move.  
  
After a few moments of a pissy tug-of-war, they at last began to make progress trundling the shirt towards the bookshelf. Dean nudged their bags out of the way before pulling the shirt into their chosen hideaway. There was just enough room to cover the floor completely with it in several rumpled layers. Sam flopped onto his own side, leaving Dean to arrange his few possessions before he hit the sack.   
  
With a certain reverence, the older brother set the key of the Impala to the side, briefly using a corner of Jacob’s shirt to wipe off the fingerprints it had accrued earlier that day.  
  
Having that key next to him, an anchor to his old life for the first time in a decade and a half, Dean felt some of the tension and frustration he’d bottled up inside during the last few years start to leak away. He kicked off his boots, tossing them against the side of the wooden planks. He didn’t bother trying to sleep right away, simply leaning back and resting his head on his hands to mull over all the changes they’d lived through in a single day. Sam’s breathing evened out into the peaceful rhythm of sleep, relieving Dean of another worry.  
  
As long as he was watching, Sammy was safe.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob was none the wiser about the filched t-shirt when he returned. He hadn't told his mother the entire story, of course, but she knew he'd found some work at a scrapyard in South Dakota. Vague descriptions like that usually placated her, and he hadn't even come close to the fact that he wasn't going to be paid for it.   
  
Not in money, at least.  
  
He had a place to stay, and it was really all he needed. He'd found he could get by on very little, and it felt kind of nice. There was a simplicity to it.  
  
Except for the not-so-simple aspect of finding out that things actually did go bump in the night. That ... that was new. He was probably fortunate that his introduction to the supernatural involved two small and incredibly determined curse victims, and not one of the werewolves Dean had mentioned in passing. Jacob had a feeling he wouldn't do as well against a werewolf.  
  
He glanced around the room, nudging his bags so that they rested against the foot of the bed and didn't take up as much floor space. The huge bookshelf drew his eye for only a moment before he assessed the bed. At least it looked like it would be about long enough for him to sleep on, if only just barely. That was rare for him, so he appreciated it.  
  
Some motels had beds too short for him, but he couldn't exactly say that was their fault. Jacob was tall and he knew it.  
  
Sam and Dean knew it, too. That was probably why they wanted to keep their distance from him unless absolutely necessary. He'd made a lot of progress, but they were still wary. It was easy to see that Dean, while he had stood up for Jacob, had plenty of reservations about the kid.  
  
Jacob sat on the bed, listening to the creak of the worn mattress, and stretched his arms over his head. The clicking of claws on the floor preceded Rumsfeld nosing the door open and padding into the room. Jacob eyed the dog for a moment before lying down; it didn't bother him where the dog slept. For all he knew, this was Rumsfeld's usual place to camp.  
  
Accustomed to long work days with early mornings, Jacob fell asleep fairly quickly, drifting off into a dreamless slumber as Rumsfeld settled protectively in front of the bookshelf, guarding the hidden residents of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumsfeld has appointed himself guardian of the smols. Better make sure you don't wander too close, Jacob.
> 
> Next: Coming June 26th at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment or review if you enjoy! :D
> 
> Pay attention over the weekend for an update of another story, long-awaited!


	19. Wakey Wakey

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!"  
  
The words might as well have been spoken in Russian for all the good they did. Jacob, though he felt himself working towards wakefulness, scrunched his eyes shut tighter. His brain tried to parse the sounds that had woken him.  
  
Needless to say, it was a bit soon for him to be able to process any words.  
  
While he squinted his eyes open in an attempt to remind his brain that he needed to actually _see_ things, Jacob reached a sluggish hand towards the source of the sound. He didn't remember setting an alarm clock. Hell, in the first few minutes after waking, in the clumsy moments between sleep and alertness, Jacob hardly remembered his own name.  
  
Dean let out a curse, dodging back out of the way of the huge hand. Unfortunately for him, his dodge didn’t go according to plan. The hand alone was big enough to eclipse his escape route without any extra work needed for the sleep-addled human, and he found himself swept off Jacob’s chest in a light but secure grip.  
  
Grumbling, Dean tried to push the huge digits wrapped around him enough to slip between them. He heard Sam cracking up to the side and glared in his general direction. “Goddammit, gigantor,” he said snippishly, “what did we say about being all hands?”  
  
Sam bounced off of the alarm clock he was sitting on. The bold red letters showed a time of 06:15 a.m., and the light outside was just beginning to creep up over the horizon to display the landscape of junked cars and scattered parts to the world. The dusty Impala sat on her own, waiting patiently for her owner to come out to her.  
  
Her owner, who was currently closed in a sleepy teen’s fist. Jacob clearly had no idea what was going on and hadn’t expected to be woken up by two guys the size of his fingers.  
  
Sam snickered. “I _told_ you!” he called over the gap to his disgruntled brother. “Let sleeping giants lie!”  
  
Dean managed to free one of his arms from the lazy grip enough to flip Sam off. “And _I_ told you. You got the expression wrong! It’s let sleeping _dogs_ lie, and I didn’t bother Rumsfeld at all!”  
  
He gestured vaguely towards the bookshelf, where Rumsfeld was still sprawled out protectively in front of the hideaway they’d chosen. His chocolate eyes were tiredly watching the brothers’ antics as they attempted to wake up the human and he heaved a noncommittal sigh.  
  
While the increasingly-familiar bickering continued, Jacob propped himself up on one elbow, finally blinking his eyes open. He knew those voices, though he certainly hadn't expected to hear them so close by and so early. Their words started to make it through his sleepy daze, and he focused on his hand with shock growing on his face.  
  
He hadn't even _felt_ anyone walking on him. And yet here he was, mere seconds after grabbing one of them off of his chest without even knowing right away.  
  
Dean, struggling fruitlessly and glaring daggers, was trapped in his fist. Jacob paled and released the tiny man onto the nightstand next to Sam. Dean dropped down and caught himself before he fell over as Jacob pulled back his hand. He moved quickly, as if worried he might knock them over with his proximity alone.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't realize ..." Jacob stammered, running a hand over his eyes to scrub the sleepiness from them. He turned his head aside and hid a yawn behind his arm before looking back at the pair.  
  
"I'm really sorry," Jacob echoed, his last conversation with Dean fresh in his mind. He'd pissed Dean off before, and just now he'd probably made it even worse. "I didn't know you were there, or I wouldn't have grabbed, I swear."  
  
Dean brushed his jacket off, making a show of appearing more annoyed than he actually was. Complaints aside, he and Sam both knew they were getting themselves into more than they could handle alone by being out in the human world. Jacob’s size was no more his fault than their size was theirs. “Yeah, whatever. We can’t have you sleeping the day away, can we?”  
  
Sam smirked. “You have it easier than I do,” he told Jacob. “The last time Dean woke up before me, he dumped the last of our water over my head. And _then_ he made me take the thimble and get it refilled, soaked shirt and all.”  
  
“There was only a drop left in the bottom!” Dean complained. “It needed to be refilled no matter what. _I_ just made sure you did it before everyone started waking up and using the hot water, that way the pipes down there were cool enough.” He turned to Jacob. “Besides. You don’t want to miss breakfast, do you?” The familiar smell of bacon was in the air, making his mouth water at the thought that they actually might be able to have one of his favorite foods for the first time in so many years.  
  
Of course, they’d need Jacob’s help to get down there before it got cold.  
  
Jacob, still surprised by his very unusual alarm for the morning, nodded slowly. "I guess not," he mumbled, sitting up all the way and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He had to stretch his arms and roll his stiff shoulders before anything else. It was only a few days ago that he'd been hauling around heavy feed bags at his last job.  
  
Fixing a car for someone less than four inches tall was going to be the most interesting work he ever managed to find. At least he'd have a place to stay and, from the aroma in the air, decent food to eat. That wasn't always such an easy thing to secure for himself. It all depended on the boss, and this time his boss was small enough to fit in his hand. As he'd demonstrated himself moments ago.  
  
The mattress creaked as Jacob shifted, and he heard the dog grumbling sleepily from over by the bookshelf. Before standing up and probably waking Rumsfeld for real, Jacob paused to consider the pair on the nightstand.  
  
"You guys want a ride to the kitchen, or were you gonna go yourselves?" he asked hesitantly, offering a hand in spite of his uncertainty. After Dean's outburst the night before, Jacob didn't want to come off as patronizing.  
  
Sam took the hand instantly, sending an easy smile up at the human. “We could use a lift, if you don’t mind. Otherwise we might not get down there in time.” He didn’t mind admitting they’d need help for that. It was one thing to accept help when there was a time limit for the food. It would be completely different if Jacob had implied that they _needed_ the help. The brothers had proven that they’d be able to get around the house find just by getting to his room.  
  
Dean followed a few steps behind. The edge of the key to the Impala was sticking out of the leather duffel he had around his shoulders. It hadn’t left his side yet, not even when he was asleep, but it was definitely too long to fit comfortably in his bag. A good half inch of the metal was visible. “We can’t get started on the car until we have a good meal,” he declared, internally shocked by the thought of food waiting for them, a guarantee he hadn’t had in so long. He did his best not to show it.  
  
Jacob couldn't hold back a grin, and some of his worry fell away. At least for now, they were back to having pretty normal conversation. Jacob was better at that, and as he carefully lifted them away from the nightstand and stood to his considerable height, he replied "Good point. It _is_ the most important meal of the day." Jacob had a feeling he'd need all the energy he could get just to keep up with Dean's ambitions for the car.  
  
He barely took two steps before he heard a snuffling and a groan as Rumsfeld woke up and noticed where Sam and Dean were. The dog trotted over to Jacob and he chuckled faintly. It was amazing the bacon smell hadn't woken the canine already.  
  
Jacob led the way back out of the room, with Rumsfeld loyally following to make sure his small friends were okay. For the trip down the stairs, Jacob made sure his hand was held closer to his chest. The descent probably looked like a mountain to Sam and Dean; he wondered what it must be like to see such familiar things on such a scale.  
  
On the main floor, Jacob found his way back to the kitchen and peered around the door. "Good morning," he greeted their host. "Want help with anything?"  
  
Bobby glanced over from where he was cooking the last of the food he had around the house (that wasn’t canned and questionably old). He’d have to run out in the afternoon to grab more. With the Winchesters back from the dead and looking too thin to be healthy, he didn’t want them to have to worry about food.  
  
He was definitely curious about where they’d gotten off to the night before. The two tiny guys had vanished without a trace, yet here they were. Just like Sam had promised. If they didn’t want to be seen, the house had more than enough nooks and crannies to make that a reality.  
  
Instead, they were out in the open, standing on a hand that could close around them both without a problem. Jacob might have had a rough start with the brothers, but they had given him a second chance. Bobby hadn’t had much time to get to know the kid, but he seemed very softspoken and mellow, a good combination considering how easy it was to rile Dean up. Sam was the only person in the world that could weather his older brother’s moods without a problem.  
  
Bobby would have to wish Jacob luck with that, especially after the outburst the night before.  
  
He waved off the help. “Things are coming along and you’ve got your hands full.”  
  
_Of Winchesters._  
  
Jacob smirked as he entered the room, glancing down at his two passengers. They only took up space on one of his hands, and even then they didn't take _that_ much room. They could probably both lie down without crowding each other. It was little wonder that they'd been able to completely evade notice the night before when they went off on their own.  
  
"Here we go," Jacob muttered, ferrying his hand to the table to let the brothers step down while he sat in the same chair as before. It felt a little strange, not helping with the food at all, but that was just leftover from his last job; he'd stayed in the farmhouse while he wasn't working, but he had pulled a lot of his own weight to keep the burden off the aging couple that owned the place.  
  
New job, new environment, new rules. Probably lots of new rules.  
  
He folded his arms on the table while he waited, leaning down a little so he wasn't looming. As much. He was beginning to notice that "not looming" was a lost cause with Sam and Dean. Hopefully it didn't bother them too much.  
  
"So, Sam, what're you gonna do while Dean and I work on the car?" he asked, simple curiosity on his face.  
  
As Dean made his way over to a book to sit on, Sam warmed right to the subject. “Bobby has the biggest library out of all the hunters we used to know,” he said brightly, sending a quick glance at the few books scattered on the table, one of which Dean was sitting on with his boots propped up. “I figure I can catch up on some reading.” He stared down at the table under his boots. “If Bobby doesn't mind, of course,” he finished lamely. It was still hard to imagine being able to plan something other than going out and hunting for food because the stores were low again.  
  
Bobby came over with a plate that had a small amount of bacon and eggs on it - small for him, at least. For the two it was meant for, it was way more than enough.  
  
“Get yer boots off that,” he said to Dean, making the older Winchester jump in surprise. “That's for readin,’ not for steppin’ on.” He watched Dean with a stern eye until he begrudgingly took his feet off the edge, dangling them off instead.  
  
“I don't mind at all,” Bobby continued smoothly once Dean was sitting proper. “You can keep me company until I have to run out. There's some new additions you might want to check out.” He arched his eyebrows. “Like The Key of Solomon. I got hold of the real deal. Sucker has everythin’ you need to take care of the average demon.”  
  
Sam was practically itching to bolt to the library even as the plate of food was lowered between him and Dean. “I think I'll check that one out _first,_ ” he said with his eyes practically glowing.  
  
Bobby dropped off the last two plates, one for him and one for Jacob, before he sat down in his own spot.  
  
_'The average demon.' There are average demons._ Jacob was suitably impressed with the idea, though he had a feeling that the very Catholic folk in his family would not approve of that kind of reading material. Good thing they'd never find out. He'd have a hard time explaining how he ended up working with a bunch of guys who knew how to exorcise demons. When he thought about it, he wouldn’t be able to safely reveal much of _anything_ about what he was doing now.  
  
Pushing that aside, Jacob observed that Sam was practically bouncing at the idea of getting at Bobby's book collection. Jacob wasn't an avid book reader, but it didn't take one to recognize one in Sam. And Sam had gone without regular access to books for over a _decade._ He had a lot of catching up to do.  
  
"You guys'll be ready for anything, if you get all that stuff memorized," he mused. They could already climb well and hide like nobody's business. It just figured that they'd also end up with the knowledge to fight monsters, even if they didn't have a way to do the fighting themselves.  
  
"I'm guessing Rumsfeld will keep you busy, too, he was looking for you guys everywhere yesterday," Jacob added.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Damn dog,” he muttered, hopping down from the book. He grabbed a piece of bacon before anything else. The grease that covered it didn’t dissuade him at all. It had been _years_ since they’d had such good food available on command like this and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Especially if this was all just some fever dream that he’d made up in a particularly bad bout of hunger, and he’d find himself back in the motel, searching for scraps.  
  
Rumsfeld had certainly been determined the night before. He’d sought them out more than once, only leaving them be when Sam dissuaded him from his search. That had never lasted long. All too soon the dog would be back sniffing around. Dean had found a wet nose nudging his arm repeatedly throughout the night, trying to get him to pay as much attention to the dog as Sam did. He’d had to give in once, after Sam wouldn’t stop snickering at the wet spot on his jacket.

[Artwork by Caycowa](http://caycowa.deviantart.com/art/Commission-SPN-Sam-Dean-and-Rumsfeld-592047922)  
  
Even when they were sleeping, the dog had stayed determined in his job to watch after them. Dean had discovered him outside their hideaway in the bookshelf, watching the bed Jacob slept on with a wary eye. He had ended up sitting with the dog for an hour, joining in the nightly watch.  
  
Sam grinned. “He can keep me company,” he said. “That way he doesn’t go knocking Dean off his feet while he’s trying to work on the car.” He’d been greatly entertained by the way Rumsfeld was determined to get scritches from his older brother. It was hard to say no to a dog that outweighed you… by a few hundred times, if not more.  
  
Jacob smirked at that, starting in on his own breakfast for a few seconds. "I'm pretty sure Rumsfeld would knock _me_ over if he didn't think you guys would go flying," he admitted, glancing over at the dog as he spoke. Rumsfeld might not be able to barrel Jacob over like most humans, but he could certainly knock him off balance if he caught him by surprise. That'd spell disaster for any passengers.  
  
As he thought about how protective the dog had been, suddenly Jacob wondered about Rumsfeld's choice to sleep in his room. He had to have comfortable places to settle down that were better than the floor in front of the bookshelf.  
  
Either Jacob was still on probation as far as the dog was concerned, or the brothers had found a place to rest right in the same room. That was a little strange to think about; two of the residents of the house could go almost entirely unnoticed if they wanted.  
  
He glanced over to Dean, who had claimed some bacon and was working on it with the kind of vigor that suggested he hadn't had it in a long time. Poor guy. Bacon was no fun to miss out on. "I suppose you'll wanna get right to it after breakfast?" Jacob asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
“No time like the present, right?” Dean said as he ate through his food. Sam opted for the eggs instead, picking at the fluffy yellow food. They were easier to manage at their size than the bacon. Not that Dean would change his choice anytime soon. “Hey, the longer it takes, the longer you’re stuck with me.” He doubted any human would enjoy having a person the size of their fingers in charge. It was hard to imagine Jacob even taking orders. The kid was frickin’ _huge._  
  
Dean gazed out the window, watching the light from the sun starting to creep in from the horizon. “And maybe I’ll get to see my baby the way she belongs again. Not covered in dust and forgotten.”  
  
_Like me and Sam..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So file that under how not to wake a giant, and everyone got to have a yummy breakfast!
> 
> Next: Coming June 28th at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment or leave kudos if you're enjoying! <3 Let us know what you think of the story!


	20. Separation

Jacob grinned, also hopeful for the day they'd be able to step back and say they'd fixed that Impala up to her former shine. He didn't mind taking a long time to do it, and he was aware that it could potentially take a couple weeks to get all that work done. It'd probably be worth it.  
  
"Can't rush perfection, can ya?" he pointed out, after working on more of his own bacon and eggs. He'd need all the energy he could get, if he was going to be back on a job soon. It didn't even matter that much that Dean couldn't pay him in money for the tough work; Jacob would have experience fixing a car after this. _That_ was valuable on an application.  
  
"We'll figure out what all needs to be done and we'll do it. Easy."  
  
Dean was quiet while he ate the rest of his breakfast, his thoughts turned inwards. Thinking about the Impala, the way their dad was missing, the fact that their lives had finally turned around for them after years of being stalled, stuck with what seemed like impassable walls in front of them.  
  
Now that he knew the Impala had been what was pulling him towards Sioux Falls, the feeling had dropped away. It would return again soon enough, he knew, when he needed to find something else. Whether it be food or supplies, it would come as soon as he went on the search. Sam’s ability was completely dependent on other people, Dean’s was dependent on himself and _need_.  
  
Need was a feeling he knew all too well.  
  
The _Trails West_ motel wasn’t the worst motel in the world that they could have found, if he was being honest. There were sleazier places out there (many of which he and Sam had more than once had the unfortunate privilege of staying in if funds were low for their dad).  
  
 _Trails West_ still wasn’t a great place to be stuck when standing under four inches. Food was scarce and hard to retrieve even when it was more available. Supplies were harder. They’d lucked out that there were other people their size around and close enough to save them. Without Walt and Mallory, Dean shuddered to think what might have become of the brothers. Their first week, after all, had been spent in a near comatose state. Walt and Mallory had feared they would never wake up in time to eat.  
  
But they had woken, and food had been set aside for the brothers. Just like now, there was plenty of food for them to eat at Bobby’s. Years of scarcity had made Sam and Dean both lean, Dean more so than Sam (years of watching out for his brother had lead to him forgoing more than one meal to keep his younger brother healthy). A full meal like the night before and the breakfast before them was almost unknown.  
  
He ate as much as he could, but it was less than he would have hoped. After living so long on scraps, his stomach wasn’t able to handle so much food, richer than he was used to, all at once. If he ate too much, he’d regret it, and the Impala was waiting. Dean set aside his bacon and eggs, and peered over at the plate that Jacob had in front of him. He’d ignored both of the humans up until that point. It was very hard to look at them and remember that _he_ was small enough to fit into a mouth the same way the food was. A sobering reminder of how different both brothers were.  
  
Though he _was_ jealous of how much Jacob could eat, while Dean subsisted on nothing more than crumbs some days.  
  
Dean brushed off his hands. “Almost ready?” he asked Jacob, making Sam startle in his seat nearby, completely involved with his own food.  
  
Jacob nodded as he picked up his glass of water and washed down his last bite of food. It had occurred to him about partway through the meal that he felt a little self conscious eating in front of such small people. They could probably see every little motion he made, and somehow being so transparent to someone was a unsettling.  
  
He wondered if it bothered them just as much, having everything be so obvious, or if it was more of an asset. He wasn't about to ask.  
  
"Yup, I'd say so," he replied when he was done. He paused to gather up his dishes before pushing his chair cautiously back. Since Rumsfeld was sticking close, he didn't want to accidentally run over the dog's paw. He still had to get on his good side. "I'll just grab my shoes and be right back."  
  
With that said, Jacob stood and placed his dishes on the counter, unsure of what else he might do with them. He hurried up the steps, the wood creaking and groaning with each step he took. He was probably the heaviest person it had supported in a long while; the house had a definite lived-in air to it. He put on his boots in a hurry, glancing around the room where he'd be staying and wondering where the brothers had settled themselves the night before. The last thing he wanted to do was come right out and ask them; it would probably scare them off.  
  
In no time at all he was back, ready to get to work. He stood over the kitchen table and offered Dean a hand platform. "Ready when you are, boss," he quipped with a grin.  
  
Dean actually grinned back, a rare expression for the older Winchester. “And don’t you forget it,” he shot gamely back. Then he hesitated, realizing that he was actually going to be farther away from Sam since… well, since they’d been cursed. Even in the motel, they’d stuck close to each other all the time. He estimated that the furthest away they’d been was a room or two.  
  
Now, Dean was about to go all the way outside to the car, leaving Sam to his own devices in the library. It was a distance that would probably take either of them an hour or two to cross if they had to go it alone. Just a few steps for a human would separate the brothers.  
  
Sam saw the look on Dean’s face and put his eggs down. “I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, understanding what was making Dean hesitate. “Do what you’ve gotta do.”  
  
Dean swallowed and stepped onto Jacob’s hand at last. “Okay.” He hadn’t thought it would be so hard to leave, but for so long, they’d been all each other had. Someone to watch out for, and to watch his back in return, and now he’d be on his own with Jacob. Only a few hundred feet from Sam at any time, but still too far to get back on time without help if something went wrong.  
  
“Let's do this!” Dean called up to Jacob, steeling himself for the height and the separation both.  
  
Jacob noted the hesitation and was extra careful when he lifted his hand away from the table. He assumed it was mainly the height off the ground that had Dean nervous, and to that end he made sure his hand was steady and his fingers were curled upwards and ready to stop any stumbles over the side.  
  
He made sure Dean was secure on his shoulder before addressing the others again. "Alright, you know where we'll be."   
  
With that, they were off.   
  
Jacob could feel the small weight on his shoulder and was struck once again by how odd his situation really was. He might never get over the fact that an entire person was up there, and he was about to help him fix up a classic car.  
  
He paused just outside the door, remembering where Bobby had said to find tools. The Impala waited right where they'd left her, though there was almost a hopeful air around the car as if it knew it would be fixed up soon. The toolkit was hastily retrieved from the trunk, which creaked much like the door had the day before, being opened for the first time in around a decade.  
  
Once he was back in front of the Impala with a tool box in the dust next to him and the expanse of black metal in front, Jacob paused to take in the appearance. The finish lacked any sort of luster anymore, and the windows were grimy from dust. The tires were dismally flat and the grille had rust on it.  
  
It was _still_ a really nice car.  
  
Jacob leaned forward slightly to examine the front of the hood. He'd never seen an older Chevy before, let alone worked on one or popped the hood. "Is there a latch on the front here or do I pop the hood from the cab?" he asked, turning his head and trying in vain to get Dean in his peripheral vision.  
  
Dean had to lick dry lips before he had even a chance of replying. His throat was dry at the sight of the Impala - _his_ car. The key was at his side in his duffel, and no one else could claim it for themselves.  
  
It was his birthright. He may have lost his size to a curse, but he still had one thing in this world that was his own.  
  
“It’s, uh…” Dean still had to clear his throat to be able to talk loud enough for the human to hear, even standing next to his ear. He inched towards the edge of Jacob’s shoulder, staring nervously at the drop all the while. Once he could make out Jacob’s eye, meaning the human could see him again, he pointed. “There’s a latch just behind the front bumper.”  
  
Jacob followed the direction that Dean pointed with that tiny arm, and inclined his head just a bit to catch sight of the latch Dean pointed out. He crouched, his focus split between the latch and the tiny man standing on his shoulder, and reached into the space behind the tarnished silvery bumper.  
  
The latch resisted at first, after so long out of use. Jacob pursed his lips and wrenched at it one more time, and it released. The hood shifted just barely half an inch to show that it had come loose from its catch. Jacob worked his free hand under the edge to lift it up.  
  
While he stood back to his full height and propped up the hood, the engine block and chassis opened up in front of them. To Dean, it had to be a landscape of metal, wires, and tubes, all aged and neglected after so many years under a cover and untouched by a mechanic.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows. "Alright, Dean ... there she is ... where do we start?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby! :D
> 
> Brief note on the brothers in Brothers Lost: They have never been apart in this AU. They have spent their entire lives with each other, and ever since the curse hit, the farthest they've gone apart is if Sam was in Walt and Mallory's home and Dean was in his home. (About one room length between them) So here, they are more codependent than in the regular Supernatural show, and much more than in Brothers Apart.
> 
> Jacob, make sure they don't get separated for long ;w; They count on you and Bobby.
> 
> Next: Coming June 30th at 9pm est.
> 
> Comment or kudos if you enjoy the story! We'd love to get some feedback!


	21. A Hard Day's Work

The noontime sunlight lit up small motes of dust as it poured in the window of the small library Bobby owned. They danced as the air moved about, displaced by the hunter as he settled down at the table with a thick, old tome that rustled as he opened it up to the middle, a page he’d been reading not long before the Winchester brothers had arrived out of the blue. Back from the dead and hiding in the folds of a grey hoodie owned by one of the largest teenagers he’d ever met.  
  
Speaking of the Winchesters, one was sitting not a foot away. Sam had his own journal open and spread out in the pages of the massive book he pored over. A diagram of a familiar circle spread out before him: a devil’s trap, one of the best tools a hunter could have at his command.  
  
In strokes of a pencil nub the length of Sam’s hand, he meticulously copied it down into his small book. It was one of several symbols he’d discovered, and each had been transcribed into his own book, symbol for symbol, so he’d have them all on hand. Even if he never got the chance to hunt the way their dad did, he’d be prepared. _They_ would be prepared.  
  
Every so often, small eyes that Bobby could remember as being hazel, but didn’t have a hope of making out unless he was inches from Sam, would flash towards the window. His face was pensive and thoughtful, more distracted than Bobby would have thought with an entire library at his disposal. He wouldn’t even mind giving up the book he himself was reading if Sam wanted to leaf through it.  
  
Bobby leaned forward, crossing his arms over his book. “Sam,” he said solemnly. Internally, he winced when he saw Sam jump slightly, startled by the mere sound of his gruff voice. It was hard to imagine what life was like for the brothers at that size, but a good deal of it seemed to be governed by instincts. Instincts that would scream at Sam and Dean to get out of sight and under cover when humans were around, but here they were, out in the open. For _hours_ at a time.  
  
Going under cover the night before, when they’d gone searching for a place to sleep had been them giving in to their instincts. Bobby had no idea where they’d gone, and he doubted they’d told Jacob, either.   
  
Sam looked up at him, eyes wide as though he’d forgotten who he was sitting near. “Y-yeah?” he asked, a barely noticeable tremor in his voice as he talked.  
  
Bobby suppressed a sigh. He wanted them both to trust him, but it was clear that after so long living at their size, there were a few barriers they’d all have to overcome. “You know, Dean’s fine out there with Jacob,” he reassured the younger brother. “Just you let me know if you want to go out to visit them. It won’t take a minute to get there.”  
  
Sam thought about it, but he stared down at his book. “I’m okay,” he said softly. So quiet that Bobby actually had to lean in to hear what he was saying. “You don’t have to worry about me.”  
  
Bobby gave him a smile. “Of course. Just remember, we’re all here for you. Rumsfeld too.”  
  
The dog, resting underneath the thick oak table, grumbled as though in confirmation. He shifted in place so he could catch sight of Bobby out of one tired eye. He hadn’t gone more than a few feet from Sam at any one time ever since Dean and Jacob had left. It was clear that if he couldn’t keep them both in sight, he’d be sure to at least hover unceasingly around one of them.  
  
Sam shrugged and went back to his book, continuing the careful circle.  
  
Bobby watched for a moment more, then went to stand. He held out a hand when Sam jumped again. “I’m just headin’ out to grab some food. You hold down the fort here for me, okay?”  
  
Sam bobbed his head. “You bet!”  
  
Bobby felt a warm feeling fill him at the way the small voice perked up. “Keep that Rumsfeld outta trouble for me too.”  
  


* * *

  
The sound of an engine rumbling in the distance caught Dean’s attention instantly. He tried to peer past Jacob’s hulking form leaning over himself and the Impala’s engine both. “Is that Bobby?”  
  
Jacob paused to extricate himself from under the hood of the car, backing up so he wouldn't knock his head on the sheet of metal. It was beginning to warm up out there, with the black paint of the car still soaking up heat like it probably always had. Jacob looked over his shoulder in time to see a faint cloud of dust around the front of the house, kicked up by a car.  
  
"Sounds like it," he answered, looking back down at Dean. The little guy was actually standing _on_ the engine block, surrounded by metal and wearing a sense of authority like there was nowhere else he ought to be. He'd been carefully explaining everything to Jacob when the distraction came up.  
  
"Did you wanna go check it out or get a little more done?"  
  
Dean crossed his arms, his frown deepening. His leather jacket was off, waiting with his duffel outside of the engine of the car. The last thing he needed to do was ruin two of his only important possessions, especially since he had no way to go about replacing them on his own. Walt had taken a long time to make the bags both Winchesters carried, and the jacket.  
  
He stood in just a black t-shirt and an older pair of jeans with his boots planted, doing his best to show that he wasn’t nervous at all, even though the sight of those huge brown eyes on him still made his heart race. Instincts were hard to control, and, friendly or not, Jacob was _massive_. It was impossible not to notice it and keep noticing it.  
  
Still, it was getting easier as time went on. Dean no longer worried that Jacob would just snatch him or Sam up against their will. Now he just had to get used to the sight of the massive muscles the teen had at his command. Muscles that were easily longer and wider than Dean was tall.  
  
Muscular arms that were following Dean’s every instruction.  
  
He considered their options. He _wanted_ to go inside and check on Sam… Bobby leaving meant that his younger brother was on his own in the expansive house.  
  
 _Bobby wouldn’t have left him if there was a chance anything could happen…_ Dean worriedly chewed his lip, feeling his determination strengthen. “Nah, we can finish this up first. Sam probably wanted the library to himself.”  
  
Jacob brushed at an itch on his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Got it," he replied, leaning forward again to survey the guts of the old classic car. He reached aside blindly for a rag so he could scrub more dust away.   
  
"Jeez, I almost think mice nested in here," he muttered, pushing out a bunched up pile of old leaves and grass, old and crackly after so long, from a small indent in the side of the engine. Something probably _had_ tried to nest in the Impala once or twice. It was stationary and had been for a long time, a fixture in the junkyard.  
  
Not for long, if Jacob and Dean had their way.  
  


* * *

  
After a long day in the sun, during which Jacob mostly cleared dust and leaves and other debris out of the Impala and Dean laid out plans for the repairs, Jacob was worn out but not as badly as he could be. It was the crick in his back that called for the most attention, and he ended up lingering in the shower with the hot water running on it to help ease up the tension.  
  
He'd get used to it eventually, like he always got used to the various strains work put on his body. It was par for the course. There wasn't much heavy lifting with the Impala, at least, so he could feel his arms just fine.  
  
With the stress of the day washed away, Jacob joined the others for a quick dinner. He caught up with Sam a little, and found that the little guy had gone to town on a few books, catching up on old demon lore and things like that. Jacob gave Sam an audience that didn't know _any_ of that stuff before.  
  
When the brothers disappeared to find a place to sleep again, it was on much better terms than the night before. Jacob was glad for that, and he was hopeful that he was making some progress with the two miniature Winchesters. He could still see signs of how guarded they were, a certain angle in their stances that spoke volumes. The fact that they stayed out in the open, nearby in spite of whatever their instincts were saying about him and about Bobby, had to mean something.  
  
Jacob was getting ready for bed once more when Rumsfeld dutifully nudged his door open again (Jacob didn't have the heart to close it on the dog; he wasn't hurting anything by coming in). He settled with a heavy sigh in the same place, curling up by the bookshelf in the room with a contented _whuff_ of a sigh.  
  
A startling notion came to Jacob, one that made him too curious not to investigate.  
  
He crept over to the bookshelf where Rumsfeld had posted himself, socks shuffling on the floor and the old wood creaking. When he knelt in front of the bookshelf, the Rottweiler perked up and grumbled warningly at him. Jacob let Rumsfeld smell his hand before scratching behind his ears. "I just wanna see," he muttered. "No trouble, I promise."  
  
That seemed to placate Rumsfeld and he settled down again, though he continued to watch as Jacob hesitantly reached out and nudged one of the books out of the way.

He moved it barely an inch or two, but it was enough to discover where the brothers had chosen to sleep in Bobby's house.  
  
Jacob also noticed that they'd found a pretty big expanse of well-worn cotton fabric. He quirked an eyebrow at the sight of Dean curled up in a fold of one of his t-shirts, and Sam sprawled further back in their little self-made room. They were out cold after a long day, one that was completely different from anything they'd known for the last fourteen years. They’d allowed themselves to fall asleep in his room, vulnerable and trusting and relying on the fact that he didn’t know they were there for safety.   
  
No wonder Rumsfeld was so intent on sleeping in front of the bookshelf. He was watching over the new friends he’d adopted while they were asleep and otherwise defenseless in a giant's room.  
  
A tiny shift from Dean caught Jacob's eye as the smaller man crossed his arms over his chest in his sleep. Determined not to disturb their rest, Jacob returned the book to its position even slower and more carefully than he'd removed it. He sat back, suddenly wondering if every move he made was too loud for them. It was lucky that he hadn't woken them just now.  
  
"Good work," he muttered to Rumsfeld, giving the dog one more scratch behind the ears before pushing himself up and heading to bed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both brothers fret about how far away from each other they are, and Jacob discovers one of their secrets without cluing anyone else off. Looks like he's even earning Rumsfeld trust! 
> 
> Brief note on the brothers in Brothers Lost: They have never been apart in this AU. They have spent their entire lives with each other, and ever since the curse hit, the farthest they've gone apart is if Sam was in Walt and Mallory's home and Dean was in his home. (About one room length between them) So here, they are more codependent than in the regular Supernatural show, and much more than in Brothers Apart.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're enjoying! It means more to us than you know.
> 
> Next: Coming July 3rd at 9pm est.


	22. The Ins and Outs

The rest of the week passed them by in a similar fashion.  
  
Jacob continued to help Dean out with the repairs of the Impala. It was slow, and halting, often interrupted by the small Winchester trying to figure out the answer to what needed to happen by climbing around the innards of his own car. Jacob lost sight of him every so often as he delved down into the machine like no mechanic in the world could do.  
  
His size also made it easy to find problems that might not have been seen until long after the car was back up and running. Where normal mechanics had to use small mirrors to see around corners, Dean could just grab a keychain flashlight he’d had Jacob procure and _walk_ around the corner.  
  
Who knew being small had its perks?  
  
Throughout this time, he grew to know both his car and Jacob better, and begrudgingly had to admit that the kid was earning their trust. Their nights were peaceful in the human's room, and Dean hadn’t once seen Jacob poking around the house to find out where they disappeared to at night.  
  
Sam spent the days either in the library reading up on the monsters and creatures that Bobby and the other hunters took care of on a daily basis, or in the kitchen, watching the gruff hunter answer the phones and deal with a horde of griping hunters. His journal started to overflow with information he’d thought long out of reach, and he even began to cover the margins with diagrams. Whenever the pencil tip grew dull, he’d sharpen it up using his knife, no matter how many times Dean complained that wasn’t what they were made for.  
  
The two small scars that developed on Jacob’s fingers were proof of what they were made for.  
  
The car was jacked up late one afternoon, and Jacob was working on the underbelly. Dean stood on his chest while he moved the creeper, occasionally walking around to survey the parts of the car stretching above them. The wheels had been blocked off, and two wheels were removed and waiting on replacements to be put on.  
  
The weirdest part was, Dean was getting _used_ to walking on a human.  
  
It didn’t even bother him to stand on Jacob’s shoulder most of the time now. As high up as he was, he’d seen how carefully the human moved, trying to not pitch either brother off by accident. The surface was like nothing else he’d ever stood on, squishy at points but firm and easily holding up his weight.  
  
“Hold up,” Dean called to Jacob, his brow furrowing as he stared up into the car. An idea was tickling the back of his mind, one he’d had for a few days. He held out a hand to the human.  
  
Jacob had gotten used to the rhythm of things. He knew he was far from being an expert in cars, so he let Dean figure out every course of action. Even if Jacob was the one who had to actually do the repairs in many cases, Dean was the one guiding his steps. Without the miniature mechanic there showing him the ropes, Jacob would have gotten lost very quickly.  
  
So, it was little surprise that he keyed in to Dean's request right away. He braced a hand on the metal undercarriage of the car, stopping the movement of the creeper carefully. He'd learned early on that if he stopped too quickly, he would accidentally topple his passenger and get an earful for it.  
  
Once the motion ground to a halt and Jacob's boots were planted in the dirt to keep him steady, he tilted his head down to peer at Dean. His chin was practically tucked into his chest to be able to see the little guy standing there, and then he looked back up to try to find whatever Dean was looking at.  
  
"What is it? I don't see anything," he admitted, glancing around.  
  
Dean didn’t answer right away as the powerful voice rumbled beneath his boots in the huge chest. Jacob could be as quiet as he wanted to and Dean would be able to make out his words. If he talked in a normal voice, it could strain Dean’s smaller ears, and if he ever had to _shout…_ Dean didn’t want to think about that. Talking normal was loud enough.  
  
His eyes scanned the undercarriage as his mind started to piece together a new direction for the repairs to take. So far, they’d focused on getting the car back to functional. That, however, wasn’t going to do the brothers much good on their own. After all, there was no way that either of them would ever be able to do anything so simple as open up one of the massive metal doors.  
  
He didn’t have a way to make the huge machine drivable for them, but he _did_ have an idea for what they could do for getting in and out, and to give them a place to go in an emergency.  
  
With that train of thought running through his mind, Dean darted towards Jacob’s face, which was still angled up at the car. Planting one foot on the collarbone before he reached the softer skin of the neck, where he didn’t want to risk walking since it was easy to cause damage there, Dean used his momentum to jump.  
  
His small hand caught on Jacob’s chin and in seconds he’d scrambled up and stepped over the human’s mouth. The last thing he needed was Jacob trying to talk while he was climbing up and causing him to fall in. From what he'd learned of Jacob, he knew he’d be fine, but it was still disturbing to be small enough to fit into a mouth without a problem.  
  
Plus, it’d be embarrassing. If Sam found out, neither of them would ever hear the end of it.  
  
Dean took a few steps next to Jacob’s nose, brushing the pipes above with his hand and ignoring the way the human tensed and squeezed his eyes shut in surprise. “I think it’ll work,” he mused to himself. He reached up, grabbing onto the metal to haul himself into the air.  
  
At least he’d have a soft landing if he slipped.  
  
Jacob didn't open his eyes until the feeling of tiny boots was no longer pressing lightly on his cheek. Even that was hard to tell, because the phantom feeling of Dean _walking on his face_ remained long after. Once Dean was clear, he reached up and brushed a hand down his face to push away the weird feeling.  
  
"Thanks for the warning," he quipped softly, rolling his eyes. It was one thing he'd learned about the brothers in the last week. If they wanted to get somewhere, they were going to climb; it was how they always did things. Jacob was only their most recent ladder. He was glad he hadn't accidentally thrown Dean off just now.  
  
He focused on Dean again, or at least where he'd last seen the little guy. He'd disappeared into the undercarriage of the car for a moment. "Dean?" he asked, glancing around again. "What did you see? Is there a problem down here?" _Please for the love of God if you fall don't step on my eye._  
  
Dean poked his head out from his perch, feeling the cool metal underneath his fingers. Small bumps and ridges that were undetectable to Jacob made up the surface for him, giving him a better grip. “I think I’ve got an idea for making it possible for me and Sam to get in and out of the Impala without needing you or Bobby’s help.”  
  
He tapped the metal ceiling with a hand, making a tiny clang echo around him. “You think you could stick around and help with some modifications?”  
  
Jacob blinked up at him, unsure for a moment if he'd heard correctly. He nodded mutely while he was still processing what Dean asked, and then spoke up. "Yeeaaah, I can," he drawled uncertainly. Fixing up the car was one thing, but actual modifications would probably be pretty tough. Not that he didn’t know his way around a welding torch.  
  
"I'll do my best. You and Sam will be able to get in and out on your own?" he asked, his eyes now widening in some awe. He had no doubt that Dean's plan would be sound; he'd shown himself to be a crafty little guy, and determined as well. "How will it work?"  
  
Dean gestured with his hand towards the front of the hulking car. “If we fit a wide pipe down here, you can cut a hole right under the driver’s seat in the car. It should be easy to make a trap door that Sam or me can push open, and have it open up into a small room welded to the bottom. We can even add a lock to it. That way if someone’s trying to catch us, we can just shut them out. Then, the pipe goes under the body of the car, all the way to the back so they don’t know where we went. Put a notch in the metal and we can use our hooks to get up or down without a problem. It won’t help us drive the car on our own, but it’ll make it a hell of a lot safer. We can’t get trapped inside that way.”  
  
He let out a breath, surprising himself with how much he’d talked. It was the type of idea that he might normally keep some details to himself, but Jacob was going to be the one to do all the modifications. He’d need to know everything.   
  
Glancing down at the human stretched out underneath, Dean arched an eyebrow. “So, whaddya think?”  
  
Jacob had to turn himself a little on the rolling creeper in order to look across the underside of the car, following Dean's logic. His eyes traced carefully from the general area under the driver's seat, all the way to the back of the car, where light spilled under the edge from the noonday sun. He was already envisioning the extra pipeline from one end to the other. It could be hidden amongst the other parts of the car, probably behind some of the metal panels in some places. It'd be tough for anyone who didn't know it was there to find it.  
  
"That's a really good idea," he said aloud, impressed. It seemed that Dean's knowledge of cars had blended seamlessly with the instincts he'd had drilled into him over the years. He'd come up with a really solid answer to getting in and out of the car without any help. It was ingenious.  
  
"So long as you show me what I have to do, I should be able to manage it. It's not exactly something I can afford to fuck up," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle, glancing back up at the little guy. The tiny mechanic, chilling in the underbelly of a classic car. _Yup, my life is really weird._  
  
Dean grinned broadly at the praise for his idea, basking in the thought of _I still got it._ Being smaller than a finger wasn’t enough to keep him down, no way. He’d just needed a little help to get back out in the world.  
  
He swung his legs off the edge of the pipe. “Awesome.” He clapped his hands together, already envisioning the way his beloved car would look when they were finished. Jacob was a quick learner, and he didn’t ask the same question twice. A helper like him was hard to come by, and Dean would be sad to see him go in the end.  
  
Dean contemplated the drop beneath his boots, wondering if it was close enough to make it without getting hurt. He decided against it, since Jacob had shifted and the gap now expanded beneath his boots. “Mind giving me a hand?” he asked, a slightly sheepish tone in his voice when he recalled gamely climbing up on Jacob’s face. He hadn’t thought twice with a mission in mind.  
  
"Hmm? Oh, sure," Jacob answered, lifting a hand towards where Dean waited. He wondered what the underside of the car looked like to someone his size. Dean was small enough to be closed in a fist without anyone even realizing he was there. The undercarriage of the car probably looked like a warped metal sky.  
  
Jacob couldn't safely turn his hand over to retrieve Dean from where he'd climbed up, so he let him stand on the back of his fingers instead. He lowered his hand back to his chest for Dean to find some more stable ground before gripping the edge of the car. Once he was sure Dean was ready to move again, he pulled the creeper back out from underneath it.  
  
"Let's figure out what we'll need."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, one of the most important factors of having the Impala should be them being able to get in and out on their own. Just because they can't drive it doesn't mean they won't be able to get in!
> 
> Dean's a little mastermind.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're enjoying! It means more to us than you know
> 
> Next: Coming July 5th at 9pm est.


	23. Relics

At the end of another day of work, during which Jacob and Dean had scoured the scrapyard for suitable metal pieces for Dean's project, the sun was once again dipping towards the horizon. It had been a cloudless spring day, warning of a hot summer to come, and Jacob, for one, was worn out.  
  
He decided to store the scrap they'd found in the trunk of the Impala rather than leave it in a pile next to the car; it'd be easier to keep track of it and keep it out of the way while they didn’t need it. He borrowed the key from Dean and lifted the trunk.  
  
Of course, a musty smell greeted them; the air had been still in the small space for a long time. That wasn't what caught his attention.  
  
A silvery gleam that Jacob hadn’t noticed when he first retrieved John Winchester’s toolkit winked from the back of the trunk, reflecting the waning sunlight. Jacob hummed thoughtfully. "Hang on," he warned the tiny mechanic on his shoulder, before leaning into the trunk to drag it out.  
  
It was a handgun, a Colt MK IV, with elegant engravings along the side and a white handle. Jacob held it reverently in his hands, tracing a thumb along one of the engravings. "Looks like your dad forgot a weapon," he said quietly.  
  
Dean swallowed dryly at the sight of the weapon. It would need a good cleaning and he’d definitely have to check all the parts, but it didn’t look like it had taken any damage since he’d last seen it.  
  
A decade and a half ago, that was the gun he’d keep under his pillow at night. His dad had trained him on it and he was a crack shot. He’d even heard John joke one day that they should find him a sniper rifle to practice with; he’d be able to take out monsters without ever getting close. That Colt had remained under the pillow the night they’d been attacked, too far out of reach to be of any help and left behind by the brothers after their sizes were reduced. He might barely be able to lift it up, even with the increased strength that came with being downsized, but that wouldn’t change the fact that it was his.  
  
“That’s because it isn’t his,” Dean said hoarsely. His fingers twitched at the urge to pick it up and feel the cool metal between them.   
  
“That’s mine.”  
  
Jacob almost turned his head to look at Dean. He stopped himself in time and clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze on the gun resting in his hands. At one point in that weapon's lifetime, it had belonged to Dean, when he was only a few years younger than Jacob was now. From the way Dean's voice was barely audible even right next to Jacob's ear, it held a lot of memories for the shrunken human. That thought alone transformed it into a much more precious item.  
  
"Well, uh," he floundered, searching for something to say about it. "I'll bring it in when we load the scrap in here," he decided. Even if Dean was unlikely to be able to carry it, he'd probably want to check the thing out. Sam might want to see it, too, if it was significant to Dean. The brothers were as close as he'd ever seen family members.  
  
He set it aside, towards the front of the trunk, before picking up the metal pieces they'd found. He leaned forward to set them all down in the trunk, arranging them so they'd be easy to gather up again and so he'd remember which part was which. Some of them still only had a purpose that was clear to Dean.  
  
That was when he saw _another_ item left forgotten in the trunk, one shoved in the back corner and not reflecting the sunlight the way the gun had. "What ..." he muttered, barely more than a breath, as he dragged it out.  
  
The worn leather journal with a strap holding it shut felt like it had been opened and closed so many times that it was just this close to falling apart entirely. Jacob stared at it for a second. Considering the gun had been Dean's, he glanced aside to try to get Dean in sight.  
  
"Is this one of yours, too?" he asked tentatively. If John Winchester had determined that the car and the gun were too painful to keep around, a journal belonging to one of the brothers might fall into the same category.  
  
This time, Dean couldn’t stop himself. The height didn’t matter, and the fact that he was standing on a human that could loom overhead like a mountain didn’t matter either. He slid down Jacob’s sleeve, using the powerful forearm as a pathway with it horizontal to hold the book up, and stiffly frozen in place as soon as Dean was on the move. Compared to his size, it was thicker than a sidewalk would be for most people.  
  
Dean fell to his knees on Jacob’s wrist, stretching out a hand to run it over the leather cover. Tears pricked at the side of his eyes, threatening to burst his carefully built up demeanor. “This is…” He had to pause and clear his voice. “This is dad’s. He… he used it to write in after mom was killed. His journal…” Dean squeezed his eyes shut as a thought came to him. “This is the journal he was using when he thought we died,” he realized.  
  
"Oh. Shit," Jacob breathed, raising his eyebrows again at the book. He was standing extra still, with Dean kneeling on his wrist. He didn't want to send him plummeting into the trunk of the car; he could land on the pile of metal scraps, and even if he didn't, the fall would be devastating.  
  
Jacob gently shifted the book to his opposite hand, giving Dean room to move onto his palm instead. "If that's true, I guess we better get this stuff inside," he said quietly, regarding Dean's demeanor. It was difficult to read what might be going on in his head.  
  
He was confident he could rule out joy and excitement.  
  
Sam would want to see their father's journal, too. With the findings of the day, the brothers would have a lot to talk about that night, and the last thing Jacob wanted to do was delay it.  
  
He managed to gather the Colt back into his hand along with the journal, despite one hand now being occupied by Dean. He closed the trunk with a slam and a rush of air, and kept both hands with precious cargo close to his chest for stability as he headed inside, racing the sunset.  
  
With Dean and their unexpected finds in hand, Jacob peered around the doorway to the library. "Sam? You in here?" he called.  
  
Sam gave a halfhearted wave over his shoulder, staring down at the book that stretched out under his boots with a long chant in Latin. With the repairs taking so long he was determinedly powering through what he could of Bobby’s library to learn as much of it as he could cram into his head, and now was examining different types of exorcisms and the pros and cons of each. “Here!” he called out, tearing his eyes away from the book at last. The familiar warning tingle strengthened when Jacob’s eyes landed on him at last.  
  
He spotted the look on Jacob’s face, then the tightness on Dean’s. His eyes trailed over to what was held in the human’s other hand and almost felt like someone punched him in the gut. “Is that…”  
  
“Dad’s journal,” Dean interrupted. “And my Colt. Turns out the old man didn’t leave the Impala on her own. He left any reminders of _us_ behind with her.”  
  
Jacob lowered the hand with Dean to the desk first, letting him join his brother near the book he was currently standing on. He gave the Latin on the page, inked in curling script, one glance before setting the journal down near them and finally the gun next to it. Both of them were like relics, objects so important to the brothers' history and glimpses of what they knew before the world grew around them.  
  
Sam bounded off the book, walking over to the journal with long strides. He remembered it as well as Dean did, the long nights that their dad would be up, carefully recording everything he’d learned about the monsters he fought. Seeing how intent John was on the book was the reason Sam had been so curious he’d slipped away with it one night, poring over the pages and learning about the parts of their family history that no one had ever told him.  
  
Jacob, not a part of their circle or their family, didn't want to intrude on whatever discussion might transpire. He stepped back from the desk to give them space and try once again not to loom. "I'll leave you guys to it," he offered. "You, uh, want anything else before I head upstairs?"  
  
He really thought he was making progress befriending the pair of them. Sam especially was friendly whenever they talked, and aside from the occasional snips or griping at something he did, Dean seemed to be warming up, too. But at this moment, Jacob felt more like an outsider than usual. He didn't share their size or their experiences and he couldn't begin to understand what they saw every morning when they ventured out into the open space of a room that towered over them. There was no reason he should be privy to this particular discovery.  
  
Sam put a hand on the leather cover just like Dean had done not long ago, then looked up at Jacob, the question filtering into his mind. Dean was busy walking around the Colt, sizing up the dusty metal and probably deciding the safest route to clean the weapon.  
  
“Jacob,” Sam said gently, “you don’t _have_ to go. This is a hunter’s journal, not a personal one. He wrote it for other hunters to read in the future, so they could learn what he learned. It’s the way they pass information down. We don’t mind if you see it.” He threw a look at Dean. “And maybe you can give us a hand taking the gun apart, if you’re up for it.” They could do a lot between the two of them, but the parts of the gun would be bigger than either brother. They couldn’t clean it if they couldn’t get it apart.  
  
Jacob glanced at Dean, surprise clear on his face. Sam's invitation sounded sincere, and Dean didn't speak up to oppose it. Jacob was actually being asked to stick around with them after, only a week ago, he'd grabbed them and trapped Dean and generally been a terror. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to come so far just by helping with the Impala, but he was glad for it all the same.  
  
"Uh, yeah, sure," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the heavy feeling in the air. He sidled past a stack of books and papers on the floor to take the chair at the desk, glancing over the journal again. A book all about the _monsters_ that Sam and Dean's father had encountered, begun with an entry about whatever had killed their mother. It probably ended with an entry about the man's sons both dying at the hands of a witch.  
  
If only he knew the truth.  
  
His sons had survived the attack, and they'd survived the following fourteen years. At a size that no one should have to weather in a world built for humans. They had let an almost complete stranger carry them states away to try to find him, showing exactly how much determination was in their bodies.  
  
Sam didn’t pay any mind to Jacob once he took his seat at the table. Either he was getting used to the sensation of being watched, or the feeling of danger that normally accompanied it was dampened. Whichever was the case, Jacob and Bobby being around didn’t bother him as much now. He wouldn’t know if it was the same way around _any_ human until he was exposed to others (something both brothers wanted to avoid as much as possible).  
  
“Get over here,” Sam called over to Dean. “Worry about your gun later.” He tugged the leather strap out of the loop that held the journal closed. Dust coated his hands, but he was used to that after years of living in the walls.  
  
Dean trotted over without argument, brushing his own hands off. He positioned himself near the top of the book and grabbed the leather cover. Together, they hefted it open. A cloud of dust billowed out when the cover landed with a thud on the thick oak table. Sam coughed, caught off guard by the sheer amount they’d disturbed.  
  
The first page had the familiar words, scripted out in letters the size of their boots.  
  
 _I went to Missouri, and I learned the truth._  
  
Both of them had seen that line before, Dean poring over the book whenever John left it with them and Sam sneaking off with it when he knew Dean was asleep. They stared at it for a long moment, startled all over again at the reminder of their new size and the way everything had changed for them that one fateful night. Dean brushed a hand over the words, feeling the way the pressure from the writing had put an indent in the crisp page. The letters were the size of his hand now.  
  
He stood again, and they both grabbed onto the pages. Together, they started to leaf through, searching for the last entry. Searching for their past.  
  
Jacob watched in silent awe. The brothers' teamwork in turning the pages was in perfect sync after so many years navigating the world at their size. They knew how to work together to peruse the old journal. Every page flipped over the worn, silvery rings binding it together, with a rustle or a creak of old paper. The handwriting filled the pages, and Jacob's eyes were drawn whenever there was a symbol scratched into the paper with a heavy hand.  
  
He didn't read more than a few lines on each page before the brothers had returned to the corners of the book to flip to the next ones. The process seemed arduous and cumbersome, and yet Jacob didn't say anything. He wanted to offer to help, but it felt like the brothers had fallen into their own rhythm. They were determined.  
  
Once again, Jacob felt like he was in over his head. He'd jumped into something a lot more intense than he'd ever expected to find while he drifted around the country looking for odd jobs. The two brothers on the desk in front of him had experienced loss after loss after loss. Jacob was no stranger to loss, but he definitely couldn't claim he understood the situation that was playing out right in front of him.  
  
After a few minutes of quiet page turning, Jacob hesitantly broke the silence. "Uh. Do you ... wanna flip to the end?" he asked, ready to be rebuffed. After all, they were doing just fine on their own. The sun was already below the horizon outside, however, and Jacob could see them working themselves until they burned out trying to get to the last page of the journal. They were determined enough to do exactly that.  
  
The voice drew both brothers out of their thoughts, reminding them that they weren’t alone. Dean took a deep breath, stepping back from the book as he rubbed the sweat from his eyes. A long day of fixing the car had him caked in grime, marks covering both of his arms and his hands. With Dean no longer turning the pages, Sam let his end drop as well, leaving the book open to the entry on the Wendigo their dad had dealt with up in northern Michigan.  
  
Dean met Jacob’s eyes, searching for any condescending looks in them. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, not now, not ever. He didn’t find any, seeing only concern and hopeful expectation. Just wanting to help them out.  
  
He shrugged. “If you don’t mind,” he said, taking a step back. Sam followed his lead, walking around to the side of the book to give Jacob space.  
  
Jacob nodded and waited for the pair to be out of range of his hands. With them the size of a finger, it would be easy for him to accidentally knock them over with a stray movement. The last thing he wanted, especially right now, was to remind them of the size difference between himself and them.  
  
He reached out and picked up several pages at once, flipping them over with a rustle of paper and covering up the strange drawing of what was labeled a 'Wendigo.’ The new page had newspaper clippings about some animal attacks somewhere. Not far enough. Jacob flipped more pages and found the last entry in the book, using his thumb to check the few sheets beyond it. They were empty.  
  
"There we go," he muttered, drawing his hands back from the old journal. He sat back in his chair, giving the brothers plenty of room to read it in relative privacy. This wasn't some entry for all hunters to know about fighting monsters. It was far more personal.  
  
Sam was moving back to the book almost before Jacob’s hands had cleared it. Dean wasted no time either, desperate to see what their dad had written about the day he’d lost them.  
  
The day they’d died, in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Impala isn't the only thing that was left behind...
> 
> *****The story ends 7/14! Remember to visit the brothers apart tumblr -- a new poll will be up this SUNDAY to decide the next story to post!*****
> 
> Next: Coming July 7th at 9pm est.
> 
> Leave us a comment or kudos if you're enjoying the story! <3


	24. John Winchester's Journal

_May 23rd, ‘93_  
  
_They’re gone._  
  
_I can't quite wrap my head around it. I spent so long training Dean. Having him look out for Sammy when I wasn’t around. And now I’ve lost them both._  
  
_The Impala doesn’t look the same anymore. She was supposed to be the car for our family. The car the boys took off to college one day when I upgraded._  
  
_It’s too quiet._  
  
_I can’t play the old classic rock tapes anymore. Dean would always be bouncing back and forth between his favorite songs. Ramble On. Traveling Riverside Blues. He’d try to sneak Led Zeppelin in when I wasn’t watching. Sammy would sit in the back, minding his own business and reading over the maps or a book or anything he could get his hands on. He’d have done good when he went to college._  
  
_Now he never will._  
  
_I knew that witch was working in the area. I can’t believe I never thought she’d go for them. They were helpless. I should have been on guard. I should have left them at Bobby’s. I can’t find her trail anywhere. She vanished into thin air like she never existed a few towns out. Bobby’s helping me try and pick up her trail again, but so far nothing._  
  
_I'll never forgive myself._  
  
_I'm sorry, Mary. I lost your baby boys._  
  
Sam went to a squat, staring down at the words under his boots.  
  
“So that’s what happened,” Dean spoke his thoughts. “The bitch lured him away from us. Distracted him from where we were and tossed in a red herring.”  
  
Jacob leaned forward ever so slightly, furtively scanning the words that he could make out on the page. While Sam turned inward and Dean's thoughts slowly filtered outward, Jacob caught up on what they'd read. He wasn't sure if he was welcome to it, but they had allowed him to stay in the room. A morbid curiosity sent his gaze flickering over the scrawled words. Faded ink told a short, heartbreaking story.  
  
Jacob didn't say anything. What could he tell them? They'd been cursed to live at a fraction of their true sizes and their remaining family thought they were dead. Who knew what he had gone on to do, with no one left to live for?  
  
In the end, he waited patiently, a silent support in case they needed something. Helping with the car was easy compared to this. Jacob knew all too well what those trips down memory lane could be like. It wasn't his place to interrupt, so he didn't. Even though he was worn out and due to go clean himself up after the work of the day, he remained in his seat while the seconds drew out into minutes. Just in case.  
  
Dean rubbed a hand down his face, trying to gather his thoughts. “We’ll just…” He closed his eyes. “We’ll just have to _find_ him, then, that's all. Tell him we never died.” He didn’t even know who he was speaking to with Sam silent on the book, but he _needed_ to talk. “Somehow. We’ll figure it out.”  
  
Stepping off the book, Dean surveyed it quickly. “We can…” He tried to think of a place they could keep the journal. There was no way for them to get it to the bedroom and behind the books on their own. “ _Dammit._ Why the hell did everything get so complicated?”  
  
That was what finally got Sam up. The complete frustration clouding Dean’s mind all over again sent a spike of worry through his mind. “Dean, we can just keep the book here. I’m sure Bobby won’t mind us leaving it in the library.”  
  
Dean almost wanted to kick the book in his frustration. “But we _need_ it, Sam. It's _ours._ ” _Our birthright._  
  
Sam gave him a smile. “Once the Impala’s fixed, we’ll have a place to keep it. Until then, it can stay here where it’s safe.”  
  
Jacob nodded, though he wasn't sure yet if he should cut in. He didn't want to leave them wondering what they'd do with the book that was clearly the most important tome currently in the library. It was a connection to the father they'd lost. "I could move it wherever you want," he offered with a slow shrug. It was no trouble to him at all. They couldn't physically drag the book off with them when they disappeared for the night, but Jacob could at least put it somewhere that they could get to easily and let them have some peace of mind, well-earned after all those years of limbo. "Just if you want."  
  
He glanced over the page again, the heartbroken journal entry splayed out beneath Sam's tiny boots. The words of a man that thought the two on the desk were long since dead. It seemed so strange and unfair that Jacob, some random drifter, had backed his way into finding them while their dad went on not knowing their fate.  
  
He wished he could do more for them. But Jacob had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that, once the car was finished up, he should go; he hadn't had the best start with them, and though he'd done better, he was distinctly an outsider here. Bobby would be a better option to help them find their dad. Until then, he’d help as much as he could.  
  
"While you're deciding, didja want to tell me how to get that gun cleaned off?" He pointed at the Colt lying on the desk, still gleaming demurely in the warm light of the lamps.  
  
Sam gave Jacob a slow smile back, knowing Dean would jump right on that offer. It would serve as the perfect distraction from his dismaying thoughts. Indeed, Dean left the journal to Sam, striding over to start pointing out the important parts of the gun. They’d need to borrow one of Bobby’s cleaning kits to get it clean, so after a few minutes of a Dean-dissertation on the gun, Jacob was sent off to find one.  
  
While they worked at getting Dean’s old gun to its proper shine, Sam read over the last few entries in the journal before they’d ‘died.’ He’d only been able to sneak off with the journal a few times. Dean was vigilant most days, and sometimes John would take the precious tome with him on his hunts. It was a good way to find out the man’s state of mind before they were lost, but there was no way to know how he’d be after so much time thinking they were dead.  
  
Trying to rid himself of any remnant of his two lost kids.  
  
Jacob was harried by the end of the cleaning session, with Dean trying to clean off some of the parts himself. Apparently he found the sight of the components of the gun fascinating at their size and was trying to learn more about how they all fit together like no other person ever had the chance to do. The shine of the Colt was coming back to it, brought to life by Jacob’s large hands and Dean’s small ones, cleaning the tiny details that Jacob couldn’t see.  
  
Sam had to hide a smirk. He sat on the edge of the journal to watch Dean barking for the handkerchief and could just imagine if it was _him_ Dean was yelling at, the handkerchief would have ended up dumped over the smaller man long ago.  
  
Deciding that would be a good point to interrupt, Sam spoke up, “I think I know where we can keep the journal.”  
  
That got everyone’s attention. He’d been so quiet the entire time, it was easy to forget he was still around. When he felt the telltale prickle of eyes on him, he didn’t have to look up to know Jacob was watching intently. “I mean… we can keep it on the bookshelf in your room, Jacob.” He stared down at his boots, hoping the human didn’t pick up on the fact that the bookshelf wasn’t a random place in the house for it to be put. “Since you’re helping Dean with the car and all. Just makes sense.”  
  
Jacob blinked and thought immediately of the sight of the two brothers hiding away on the shelf, with one of _his_ shirts as a big nest of a bed. He didn't let the realization show on his face, and was rather proud of himself for that. He was a terrible liar, and he didn't want to risk straining their trust if they discovered he'd sought them out while they slept.  
  
He nodded slowly. "That's a decent idea. It's out of the way of all these other books until we get the Impala fixed up." He smiled faintly, assuring the two of them that he would follow through with the request. He never let on that he knew how close to their own chosen "bedroom" that the journal would end up.  
  
The gun was still in pieces in front of him. Jacob opted to get to work putting it back together before he made any other moves. The process was paused more than once by Dean noticing yet another piece that needed a more thorough cleaning; Jacob excused himself with the thought that he'd never taken a gun apart before. He thought he'd done pretty well.  
  
With the gun shining and fully assembled again, engravings shading the freshly cleaned metal, Jacob sat back. He was suddenly exhausted, his internal clock reminding him that he needed to get his rest to wake up early in the morning and get right back to work. "I'll go put the journal away before I get cleaned up from the day ... Dean, where'd you want the gun?"  
  
Dean put a hand out, stroking the cool metal engravings. “You can leave it with the journal,” he said, his voice subdued compared to normal. The gun wasn’t loaded, and it would need to be tested before they ever risked shooting it. Most likely by Bobby, a man that was more than familiar with all types of weaponry. They wouldn't risk an amateur with an untested weapon no matter how willing to help he’d shown himself to be.  
  
He wouldn’t say so out loud, but Sam’s plan was genius for where to keep the journal. They didn’t want to admit where they were sleeping. Instinctively, it was terrifying to let someone so big know where they were when they were so vulnerable. Dean was glad Rumsfeld had decided to sleep outside the alcove, giving them another line of defense from being found.  
  
Something in Dean pointed out that out of all the humans out in the world, Jacob and Bobby had proven trustworthy. If they knew where the brothers slept, nothing would happen.  
  
After a week with prolonged periods of separation, Sam and Dean were both fine. If anything was going to happen to them, it _would_ have. It wasn’t like they could realistically _stop_ either human, after all.  
  
Dean brushed his hands off, stepping away from the Colt and towards his belongings off to the side. They’d have to claim a sink that night before slipping unnoticed into Jacob’s room. Dean was ripe after a busy day of repairs. “Just remember!” he called over his shoulder. “Bright and early, tomorrow! We’ve got a lot more work ahead of us!”  
  
"Alright," Jacob replied, a weary smile on his face. He had come to expect no different after a week of the same routine. At least he hadn't repeated the incident of grabbing Dean in his sleep. That, he hoped, was a one-time mistake.  
  
He gathered up the journal and gun, and the handkerchief they'd used to clean the weapon. Jacob bade them goodnight before heading upstairs. The journal and gun both had room on the bottom level of the bookshelf, and Jacob left the handkerchief underneath the Colt both to cushion it and in case Dean wanted to clean his beloved gun some more.  
  
With that done, he could finally clean up and get some rest.  


* * *

  
The next few days saw slower progress on the car. Fixing things up had a set of steps that didn't waver much. Jacob could get work done bit by bit under Dean's instruction and they could see things coming together.  
  
Actually modifying the car in a way no one had ever done before required a lot more thought and planning. Measure twice, measure twice again, and then cut once. While the days slowly got warmer, the work got more tedious and involved for both of them. Jacob had the most trouble with the panic room itself, since installing it required him to work under the seat of the Impala in a limited space. Dean's help was invaluable down there, able to see the modifications from all angles.  
  
After several days of modifications with some last-touch repairs on the engine mixed in, Dean's secret project was near fruition. Jacob packed up the tools at the end of a particularly long afternoon, and headed in with Dean perched on his shoulder as always. After the hard work of the day, they'd both be glad to see dinner ready.  
  
Sam was waiting for them both, eager as always to show Dean what he’d found during his research. The brothers settled down next to each other to pore over the small journal while the food was laid out around them. Normally, Bobby didn’t spend so much time cooking around the house, but there was something about having the two of them back that made him want to make sure they had good food to eat. Both boys were _scrawny,_ and could use more than a few good meals.  
  
Jacob hadn’t asked for any payment for his help with Dean and occasionally helping around the house, so Bobby considered his food more than earned. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to have a Winchester barking orders in his ear the entire day. They were bad enough as it was, and he _still_ hadn’t actually picked one of them up or had them on his shoulder like Jacob had. Sam got himself around the house just fine, merely asking for Bobby’s help to get books down for him, and Dean was constantly with the teenager that had become his helper. Their natural wariness made them leery to be held by anyone, and they already knew how Jacob would react.  
  
Jacob was also easier to scold than Bobby.  
  
To celebrate how far the Impala was coming, even with the suspicious new modifications Bobby had side-eyed from the window one day, he dug out a bottle of whiskey. “Figured we’d have a drink tonight,” he said to the others. “I don’t think you’ve taken the time to relax since getting here.” The last part was mostly directed at Dean, a determined force to be reckoned with considering his relative size.  
  
Jacob looked up from his nearly finished dinner at the bottle in Bobby's hand. After a meal like the one they'd all just had, the dark brown liquid sloshing back and forth in the glass container looked like just the thing. Jacob didn't get many opportunities to drink yet, being underage and thus unable to get anything himself with ease. He'd had drinks with coworkers before, but generally didn't end up pursuing anything himself.  
  
After almost two weeks of hard work restoring a classic car and adding a few hidden touches to it under Dean's guidance, a drink would be amazing. Jacob almost nodded in agreement to it.  
  
But he glanced over the two brothers on the table before his eyes wandered to the door. Jacob was tired, and he knew he'd be up bright and early the next morning. He could handle his liquor well enough, but he did risk knocking himself out a little deeper than usual with the influence of alcohol.  
  
Besides, the brothers and Bobby probably could use a chance to catch up without him intruding on it for once. Bobby was practically family to them from before their curse. They'd stayed in this very house numerous times. Despite them standing at four inches tall, Jacob felt more like the odd one out.  
  
With those things in mind, he waved a hand. "Nah, none for me," he conceded. "I'm probably going to bed soon. Pretty tired..." He trailed off into a sheepish chuckle and a shrug. It didn't take him long after that to clear his plate and stand, offering a casual wave to the brothers.  
  
"Bright and early," he assured Dean, echoing the usual plan for their days, before excusing himself from the room to head upstairs to bed.  
  
Bobby watched Jacob leave the room, then turned his glare on the Winchesters. Dean almost cringed at the sight, caught off-guard by an annoyed human. Jacob was more easygoing than Bobby was, for sure.  
  
“Idjits. Are you tryin’ ta work him into the ground?” Bobby grumbled, holding the whiskey away from them.  
  
Dean opened his mouth to protest that, then closed it again. He hadn’t had any intention of working Jacob _too_ hard, but the days had lengthened as the car started to near completion and spring gradually gave way to summer. The innards were no longer rusting and old and soon he hoped to have a successful test drive and he couldn’t wait to show Sam the panic room that was being constructed.  
  
In his excitement at being given a new chance at life, he’d forgotten that Jacob was doing a lot more strenuous work while they were out there, and now the kid didn’t even want to drink with them.  
  
Dean’s mouth tightened in determination. “He’s having a drink with us one way or the other,” he decided, declaring it to the table. “We wouldn’t be here without him.”  
  
Bobby gave them a _look_. “And how are you plannin’ on that going down?” he asked dryly, his eyes flashing towards the staircase that loomed in their way.  
  
Dean bounced off the book that had been placed on the table for them to sit on, a second book on top of it to form a backrest. “Do you have any flasks?” he asked in all seriousness as Sam slowly stood behind him, tucking his journal into his bag as he realized that Dean had a plan.  
  
Bobby arched an eyebrow in confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyone have any ideas what Dean's plan is? XD Conniving little guy.
> 
> And Jacob is doing so well with the pair. Watching out for them and helping them without them having to ask.
> 
> Next: Coming July 10th at 9pm est.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're enjoying! It means more to us than you know <3


	25. Bobby's Good Whiskey

Five minutes later, the edge of Jacob’s door was slowly nudged open.  
  
It wasn’t Rumsfeld.  
  
The dog stuck with Bobby as the gruff old hunter headed down the stairs to give the others time to themselves. He’d just dropped off Sam and Dean along with a flask of his prized whiskey outside the guest bedroom. They’d allowed him to hold them for the first time, all in the name of carrying the heavy container up the stairs.  
  
Sam gave a grunt as he pushed at the very edge of the massive door to maximize the torque, inordinately glad that the hinge wasn’t rusted at all. Dean dragged the whiskey behind himself, just as glad that he had extra strength at his disposal, otherwise they’d have to make Jacob go get himself his own drink downstairs instead of bring it up to him.  
  
The whiskey finally made it across the threshold and Sam rejoined Dean in dragging the heavy metal flask across the floor. It was only a few feet to the bed. They could manage that, no problem, especially working together.  
  
Jacob, seated on the edge of the bed, was just this close to lying down for the night. After accomplishing as much as he had in one day, he wasn't surprised when the exhaustion hit him out of nowhere. His main goal in exiting the kitchen so quickly was to get out of the way, but his excuse caught up to him in short order.  
  
He covered a yawn with the back of his arm, and in the same instant glanced to the door. It inched open just a bit, and he expected Rumsfeld to push his way into the room. It didn't happen, and Jacob frowned in confusion until he noticed motion down on the floor.  
  
His gaze found Sam and Dean down there, dragging something bulky along with them. Jacob blinked several times, disbelief slowly furrowing his brow. Then, seeing that they were dragging a _flask_ , and that it was cumbersome for them, he spoke up.  
  
"Uh. Hey, guys," he greeted. "What's that for? Saving some for later?"  
  
Dean gave Jacob a flat look, judging the joke as falling far short. “Totally. We figured we’d just sneak it into the walls and try and find a way to prop it up. It’ll be the keg to end all kegs and we’ll get the mice drunk.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s for _you_ , Godzilla. You ain’t getting out of drinkin’ with us that easy, not after all the work we went through to get it this far.”  
  
He didn’t mention that Bobby had been the one to get the flask up the stairs and to the doorway, along with them having to borrow it in the first place. Details like that just got in the way of the fact that Jacob was _going_ to drink with them. Determination had set in, and Dean wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.  
  
“But you better share,” Dean complained as they pulled it forward on the hardwood floor, slowly creeping past the bookshelf at a snail’s pace. The flask was full to the brim, weighing more than both brothers together. “We gave up on the whiskey downstairs for this.”  
  
Jacob stared for a few seconds more, dumbfounded by what he was seeing. And by what he'd heard. He blinked slowly and was practically rooted to his seat on the bed while the two of them continued to drag that flask along. It was like watching two people pushing a car.  
  
They _wanted_ to have a drink with him.  
  
Jacob, swallowing his surprise with a sudden grin, slowly shifted and stood. He didn't need to take many steps before he decided he was better off kneeling so he didn't loom so completely over them. One arm he rested on his knee and the other he stretched out to offer his hand palm-up in their path. They didn't have quite so far to drag the thing that way.  
  
"Well, here, lemme just help out with that, then," he suggested.  
  
That was all it took for them to change their path, angling the flask towards the open palm held out for them. The few seconds that Jacob had been standing had made both brothers stiffen up, but it was only a fleeting feeling with the careful way that Jacob carried himself. One that would probably take some time to dissipate when they spent their time around such huge people all day.  
  
Dean was first on Jacob’s hand, tugging the flask up behind him while Sam gave it a good shove from the ground. Determination was something that they both had a huge supply of, regardless of their size, and determination was what got the flask of whiskey onto Jacob’s hand with them. It took up most of the space on the palm and was leaning partially off.  
  
Neither brother stopped to think that Jacob could have just picked it up on his own.  
  
Crossing his arms, Dean nodded with satisfaction at how far they’d managed to drag the comparatively huge flask. “Totally worth it,” he declared. He glanced up at Jacob with a grin. “Thanks for the lift, Sasquatch.”  
  
"Anytime, dude," Jacob replied, returning the smile. Before he lifted his hand off the floor and risked dropping the bulky flask, he placed his other hand next to the occupied one. It left more room for Sam and Dean, away from the edges of his hands. It didn't matter how good they were with balance; having them right on the edge was nervewracking and Jacob didn't want to send them plummeting.  
  
He stood again, holding the whole lot closer to his chest and walking the few steps back to the bed. He sat down on the creaky mattress once more and bridged his hands to the nightstand for Sam and Dean to step off.  
  
Once they were secure, he wrapped a hand around the flask and turned it upright so he could twist off the cap. He carefully tilted it until some of the liquid within poured into the cap, bringing with it a potent smell of some pretty strong stuff. Jacob blinked in surprise before setting the cap on the nightstand for Sam and Dean.  
  
Sam couldn’t help gagging at the smell of the alcohol as it washed over both of the brothers. “Bobby actually _drinks_ this stuff?” he managed to hack out.  
  
Dean gave him a heavy pat on the back, almost pitching him face-first into the cap. “Chin up, there, kid. You’ve gotta try the good stuff.”  
  
Jacob smirked at the banter. "Thanks for bringing this up, guys," he said with a genuine smile, very pleased that they actually wanted to bring it to him. "I figured you'd wanna hang out with Bobby, actually."  
  
While Sam nudged the cap dubiously with a boot, Dean dug out the tin foil sheafs he kept hidden in his bag at all times. While at Bobby’s, he’d stocked up his supply one day when he’d found the kitchen empty of anyone else. He carefully folded them into the shape of two cups, one for him and one for Sam. Scooping up some of the liquid, he handed one off to his brother and then held his own up in a toast.  
  
“Just ‘cause I’m hard on you,” Dean said to Jacob, “don’t mean we don’t want you hanging out with us. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you, and you’ve done good, working on the Impala these last few weeks. So… thanks. For everything.”  
  
Jacob's smile was softer this time, but lit up his eyes just the same. After so many days with endless griping in his ears and diligent work from sunup to sundown, Dean's speech was just what he needed to hear. Even despite how big he was and the mistakes he'd made, they still wanted him around. It was a sign of forgiveness that he had been hoping to see from the very start.  
  
He lifted the flask in response to Dean's toast. "And thank you for the chance," he replied, tilting the flask to take a tentative drink.  
  
The whiskey was _strong._ Dean hadn't been kidding when he called it the good stuff. Jacob already felt the warmth in his throat and stomach from the powerful alcohol. He let out a short sigh, blinking heavily from the sting.  
  
"This mean I can sleep in a little in the morning?" he asked with a grin, raising an eyebrow at his small boss.  
  
Dean shot him up a fast glare at the thought, then remembered Bobby’s words from earlier that night. _Are you tryin’ ta work him into the ground?_ came back to him. Dean mulishly considered his options, swirling around his whiskey before taking a shot of his own.  
  
He almost gagged at the taste, shocked at how much of an edge it had. It almost burned a hole in his chest. _Where the hell does Bobby_ get _this stuff?_ Neither brother had ever been able to try more than some beer back when they were kids when some hunting buddies of John’s had slipped them some.  
  
Sam tried his own and didn’t bother hiding the hacking cough. When Dean wasn’t looking his direction, he surreptitiously poured the whiskey back into the cap.  
  
He’d just stick to beer.  
  
Dean took another small sip and found it went down easier the second time around. The warm feeling was welcome as it blossomed inside of him, pushing away the constant cold he felt at any time except for the height of summer, and _only_ if someone turned off the AC at the motel, or if he was sitting up on the roof to take in the sun’s warm rays.  
  
“I guess you can sleep in tomorrow,” Dean said begrudgingly, determined to do right by Jacob after all the help he’d given them. “But don’t expect this to be a regular thing. There’s work to do.”  
  
Jacob was amused, both by Sam's sneaky moves abandoning the rest of his whiskey and by the look that had flashed across Dean's face at his joke. In the end, he was pleasantly surprised; he hadn't really expected to get extra sleep in the morning regardless of Dean's toast moments ago. It definitely elevated the guy into the list of better employers Jacob had worked under, even if Dean wasn't really an employer in any traditional sense.  
  
Either way, Jacob had worked with some real hardasses before, but none of them offered to have drinks. He smirked and took another sip from the flask, letting the flavor speak for itself now that it wasn't just a constant burn. He'd have to thank Bobby for lending them the flask.  
  
"Hey, man, I'm excited to get that Impala ready again, too," he promised. He glanced over at Sam with a grin. "It's coming along pretty well. Not bad for the first car I've ever restored, if I do say so myself."  
  
Dean laughed at that, the drink starting to loosen up his normal tension around the human. “He’s a natural, Sammy. I could probably whip him into a great mechanic if I had the time.” He was thoughtful as he took his next sip, staring into the cool liquid in his cup. He’d already downed half of it, and with no resistance to the inebriating effects it gave, his mind was starting to cloud over. “Dude, I bet with enough time we could make him as good with cars as _Bobby._ ”  
  
Sam smirked, patting Dean on the back. “Right. And next you’ll be ready to whip him into shape to be a better hunter than dad.”  
  
“Hey, don’t joke,” Dean complained, pushing Sam away. “I totally could. I got dad’s journal, right? Dad didn’t even start hunting until he was over _thirty_. We could do it.”  
  
Jacob tried to hide his snickering, but he really couldn't. The thought of being a professional mechanic was doable, if a bit ambitious. And being a _hunter?_ Going out and finding monsters and ghosts to fight to save people? He wasn't sure he had what it took, regardless of his size and strength.  
  
"I bet you could," he said anyway, taking another sip of the whiskey and relishing the warm feeling that spread from his core. It was relaxing to be able to sit and chat with the brothers, after all the hard work. Normally they had a few minutes at breakfast and lunch, and by the time dinner rolled around everyone was tired enough that the food took precedence.  
  
"I think I'm more likely to make a better mechanic than a hunter, though," he admitted. Despite his size, Jacob had never been much of a fighter. Not at the level he'd need to be in order to fight a werewolf, for example.  
  
Dean sized him up as he drank from his foil cup. No one had ever warned him that whiskey wasn’t made to be drank in draughts, and his own inhibitions were already down by his boots.  
  
Jacob was a big guy, with muscle covering his arms and upper body. His legs were most likely the same, but they were hidden underneath waves of sturdy blue fabric every day. Despite the growing warmth outside, Dean couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t a fan of shorts under any conditions and never had been. Unless they were short shorts on certain girls he’d seen in school…  
  
He had to shake his head to focus, and found himself almost pitching to the side. Sam snapped a hand out, steadying his balance. “Maybe you should sit,” Sam suggested, pulling Dean towards the alarm clock.  
  
“No… ‘m fine, Sammy, leggo.” Dean tried to twist his arm out of Sam’s grip. With his own balance off and Sam doing fine, he didn’t succeed, pulled like a kitten and placed against the alarm clock to lean.  
  
Dean huffed in annoyance. “ _Whatever._ ” He turned and pointedly ignored Sam, sadly shaking his cup and watching the dredges swirl around. Looking up at Jacob, he could just vaguely remember what had been said. “Don’t underestimate yourself, kid. There ain’t many people that go out thinkin’ they’re ready to take down a werewolf. Least, not any that are still _alive._ ” His inebriation brought out his drawl, slowing down his words from his normal pace.

[Bitty Booze Bros by Caycowa](http://nightmares06.deviantart.com/art/Commission-SPN-Bitty-Brooze-Bros-597774222)  
  
Jacob kept an eye on Dean for a moment, making sure he wasn't about to unbalance himself again. Even leaning against something was no guarantee with someone drunk enough, as Jacob had seen before. And with the way Sam could so easily direct his normally stubborn-as-hell brother, Jacob had a feeling Dean was past ‘drunk enough’ already.  
  
He had to wonder if Dean had ever had a drink before, and then realized that it was a stupid question. Dean had been living off found scraps for almost fourteen years. Of _course_ he didn't have a tolerance for the alcohol. Jacob would have to slip the cap of the flask away before Dean got the idea in his head to go for a refill.  
  
For the moment, he let the conversation distract them both. "Tell you the truth, I'm still not completely over the fact that werewolves are _real,_ " he admitted.  
  
Dean waved his hand around in the air. “Maybe if the legends got half that crap _right_ , people might actually figure out they _are_ real. I mean, grow fur? That shit doesn’t actually happen. Some dumbass probably dressed up in a wolf costume years and years ago to scare off a farmer’s sheep and started _that_ rumor.” He shook his head ruefully and drained the last drop of his drink, grimacing at the flavor. He could definitely get used to it, though.  
  
Sam tried to hide a grin at Dean and untangled his words for Jacob. “They get really strong, or ‘wolf-out,’ like Dean says it. Claws and fangs, sure. Fur, no. They go after hearts and it gets written off as animal attacks most of the time. Dad hunted one when we stayed with Bobby one year. At least the lore on them is pretty easy. A silver bullet to the heart takes them down.”  
  
Jacob had a bemused look on his face, stuck between awed and entertained. On one hand, more information about the supernatural was an obvious draw for his attention. On the other, Dean's rambling was pretty funny, regardless of the gruesome topic. Jacob was gladder by the second for a chance to just hang out with the brothers without the fear or wariness. The whiskey had loosened Dean up completely.  
  
"Silver bullets, Jesus," he said with an incredulous shake of the head. He took another sip out of the flask, blinking slowly as the warm sensation spread again. "This stuff is just crazy ... I guess you're becoming a fast expert, too, with all this time in the library, huh?" he asked. Whenever he and Dean left to work or came in after a long day, it seemed like Sam could always be found studying a book several times his size, diligently copying noteworthy passages into his tiny journal.  
  
Sam nodded, grinning. “I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, right?” He glanced over at the journal laying on their shelf, not two feet from where they’d chosen to place their bedroom. He supposed if Jacob left they’d need to find a safer home, one random humans couldn’t stumble over.  
  
They’d have to give up the shirt they’d snitched from him, too.  
  
Sam glanced over at Dean, who’d become suspiciously quiet. His eyes were slightly glazed over, and he was staring into the bottom of his foil cup with a mournful gaze. Sam silently sidled in front of the cap of whiskey, blocking it from Dean’s view and hoping that the maxim “out of sight, out of mind,” would apply to his hopelessly drunk brother.  
  
“How’s the days with Dean going?” Sam asked Jacob curiously. He didn’t see them for most of the day, and whenever Dean came in they just talked about the new notes Sam had taken in his journal or how the repairs were going, nothing about how he and Jacob were getting along.  
  
Jacob shrugged. "Pretty good, I guess," he mused. He had gotten used to the routine of waking up and heading out with Dean on his shoulder, ready to tackle the latest problem with the Impala. After sitting idle for so long, there was a laundry list and Dean was a tireless machine hell bent on fixing her up.  
  
"He definitely ends up teaching me a lot every day. Most of this stuff was new to me when we started." While he talked, Jacob surreptitiously pinched the cap of whiskey in his thumb and index finger, taking advantage of the way Sam had blocked it from Dean's view. It was the best opportunity.  
  
"Only gripes at me a little bit," he added with a wink and a grin. He had a feeling Sam knew the truth behind the statement.  
  
Sam grinned at the wink and held his hand out of sight from Dean, offering Jacob a thumbs-up in return. He had a feeling, from the way Dean was starting to fade in and out of the conversation, that he’d have to drag his older brother back to their hideaway sooner than later, but it was nice to just relax for a bit and hang out with the human that had first captured them, then helped save them from their fate. Jacob’s size was still intimidating, but his demeanor wasn’t.  
  
“You get used to it,” Sam confided. He had a feeling Dean was far enough gone that he wouldn’t remember much of the night after his drink. Indeed, Dean was leaning against the alarm clock holding his cup upside down. He shook it as though he was expecting more whiskey to come pouring out.  
  
“That’s just how Dean is. He cares, he just has his own way of showing it.”  
  
Jacob chuckled gamely, noticing Dean's forlorn movements over by the alarm clock. He looked like he wouldn't be out of place in a bar with his leather jacket and jeans, acting like he'd been personally cut off by the bartender already. It was technically true, but still.  
  
At least he was too small to pick a fight with the ‘bartender.’  
  
"I figured as much," Jacob replied, taking one last drink himself before twisting the cap back onto the flask. The early effects of the alcohol were beginning to make his eyelids a little heavy, and he couldn't see Dean holding himself up much longer.  
  
"Well, hey, it looks like he could use some sleep after everything," Jacob determined, the smile lingering on his face. "Want me to get you guys to the floor before you have to drag him to his bed?" Jacob couldn't help but worry just a bit at the thought of Dean trying to climb down in that state. He didn't doubt the man's skill, but skill didn't have much to do with things when alcohol had its way.  
  
“That’s probably a good plan,” Sam admitted. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, getting a surprised jolt out of his brother.  
  
“ ‘Ammy?” Dean mumbled, blinking up at his taller brother.  
  
“Yeah, it’s just me, jerk.” Sam pried the foil cup out of Dean’s hands, folding it in half to put in his own bag. “We better get you to bed before I have to _carry_ you there.” It wasn’t like Dean would be much of a burden, all things considered, but it wasn’t the way Sam wanted his night to end. “C’mon, Jacob’s gonna give us a ride. You’re too drunk to climb.”  
  
Dean drew himself up indignantly, trying to fumble the side of his duffel bag open. “I’m _fine,_ Sam. I can get myself to bed.”  
  
Sam arched an eyebrow. “You can? Is the key to the Impala going to help?”  
  
Dean stared dumbly down at the key that he’d grabbed in lieu of the hook that was hanging out of the bag a centimeter away. Before he could correct his mistake, Sam nabbed his arm, pushing the key back in the bag. “Okay, that’s enough for you. Time to go.”  
  
“Bitch,” Dean grumbled as he found himself guided towards Jacob. He didn’t bother struggling, too busy trying to use Sam to lean on when the world started to rotate around him.  
  
Jacob couldn't hide his amused grin but he at least held back his laughter so he wouldn't throw off their concentration. It was a good thing Sam had been there to catch Dean before he stubbornly tried to make his own way to the floor. Jacob wasn't sure he'd be able to stop that endeavor without getting himself another cut from Dean's knife in the process, drunk as the smaller man was.  
  
He waited patiently while Sam guided his brother's faltering, drunken steps towards a hand bigger than a bed to them. Their size seemed so secondary now, watching a scene that was so common among humans. Jacob was glad he'd come to his senses about the pair.  
  
Those tiny boots stumbled onto his hand once more, this time finding more room since the flask was out of the picture. With Dean leaning on Sam, they were as ready as anyone could be for someone twenty times their size to ferry them to the floor.  
  
Jacob did so, and made sure his movements were slower than usual. The last thing he wanted was to move too fast and inspire Dean's alcohol-filled stomach to react badly all over his hand.  
  
Leaning down, Jacob flattened his hand on the floor in front of the nightstand. Once they were off, he sat up again and lifted his feet off the floor so he was completely on the bed and as out of their way as he could make himself. He knew that, by virtue of being up on furniture that stood over them, he was still looming. But at least he wasn't blocking whatever route they might end up taking to their "secret" room on the shelf.  
  
"Lemme know if you need anything," he told Sam with a smirk, glancing at Dean once more. "Though I bet he'll be out cold before you even let go of him."  
  
“Uh, yeah, probably.” Sam tried to get Dean standing upright, but it didn’t work out. Switching tactics, he slung one of Dean’s arms over his shoulders, wishing for once that his brother was a little taller. Sam had to stoop slightly so he didn’t knock Dean off his feet.  
  
Sam gave Jacob a halting wave with his free arm. “We’ll see you… sometime tomorrow. After Dean sleeps it off.” He might not be familiar with actual drinking himself, but he remembered how their dad was after a night at the bar. He’d sleep deeper than normal, rarely waking up early in the morning.  
  
“Let’s go, ass,” Sam said, taking a few halting steps towards the bookshelf. He hitched Dean up all over again. “Dude, you better _not_ fall asleep on me. That wasn’t a suggestion earlier.”  
  
“ ‘M fine,” Dean mumbled. “Jus’ gotta… finish fixing the car. We gotta hunt. Save some kids…”  
  
Sam’s demeanor softened at the admittance from his brother. “That’s right Dean,” he said. He knew it was a huge driving force behind Dean’s actions ever since getting to Bobby’s. He guided his older brother’s steps towards their shelf, foregoing their normal stealth for the quickest route. It was good that Dean was too far gone to realize it. “We’re gonna keep other kids from getting cursed like us. But first we gotta get to bed. Hunters have to sleep, right?”  
  
“Yeah… gotta sleep.”

* * *

  
Only the faintest murmurs of the conversation down below even registered in Jacob's ears. He watched them stumble along for a few seconds before he lay back on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head. He watched the ceiling to give them a chance to make their way to their hidden home without someone watching their every move.  
  
Jacob had a smile lingering on his face, aimed at nothing. He was happier than he'd been all week. So many days straight of work and little else had left him resigned to it. Jacob was no stranger to arduous work schedules, of course, but there always came a point that he needed a break.  
  
This was more than he could have hoped for. Sam and Dean, people who had plenty of reasons not to associate with him at all, had dragged a flask full of whiskey to him in order to _insist_ he have a drink with them.  
  
It spoke volumes, and it was the main reason he was happy, aided by the drink he had in his own system.  
  
He heard Rumsfeld on the stairs and smirked, knowing the dog was soon to trot in and take up his post by the brothers' bookshelf. Jacob reached over and shut off the lamp on the nightstand before turning over to settle in for sleep. The mattress springs squealed under him like they always did.  
  
With the help of Bobby's good whiskey, Jacob drifted off to sleep faster than he had since arriving there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One reason I love the Dean in Brothers Lost so much is because, unlike canon Dean, he's never been able to go out and do a lot of the stuff he's famous for. No bars, no drinking, no women...
> 
> Tiny Dean is innocence. He must fix this.
> 
> Poll is up on tumblr!
> 
> Leave a comment if you like the story!
> 
> Next: Coming July 12th at 9pm est.


	26. Dean Has a Plan

The morning found a strange scene in the guest room at Bobby’s.  
  
The sun crept over the horizon, scattered rays slipping through the clouds to illuminate the junkyard and field that stretched out behind the house. The Impala waited loyally for her owner and his helper to return. Trees rustled and birdsong began to filter through the field as they fought over who got the worm.  
  
Inside the room, no one stirred.  
  
Not even Sam, the only person that went to bed sober the night before. He took advantage of the drowsy morning to go over the most recent notes he’d taken in his journal, relaxing in the fabric nest they'd made from Jacob's filched t-shirt.  
  
A few hours later found a different scene.  
  
“Hey.” Sam was hesitant as he nudged Jacob’s cheek in sleep. It was the first time he’d tried to wake up the human and the task seemed more than daunting, but considering Dean’s condition, he didn’t have a choice. He pushed more forcibly, trying to balance on the soft surface of the pillow that threatened to steal his footing and send him tumbling. “Hey, Jacob. I think I need your help.”  
  
The soft voice, even right next to his head, did slow work dragging Jacob back out of sleep. It was normal for him to wake up early. His body was used to being active in the mornings, ready to get to work. Today, however, he was held drowsily down by some really strong whiskey the night before.  
  
When his eyes fluttered open, they scanned around for the source of the voice and found nothing because they were out of focus. When he finally tilted his head enough to find Sam in his peripheral vision, Jacob flinched in surprise.  
  
He hadn't expected someone to be so close to him right as he woke up. He lifted his head from the pillow in a startled movement, which nearly upset the little guy's carefully achieved balance. Jacob winced apologetically as Sam threw out small arms, and pushed himself up further, blinking rapidly and concealing a yawn with a hand.  
  
"Sam, what's ... what's up," he rasped, trying to wake as fast as he could. After the caution both small brothers had shown, he doubted Sam would walk right up to him like that without a good reason.  
  
Or without _Dean._   
  
Jacob furrowed his brow in concern at the realization that Sam was alone with him for the first time since they'd met. There was no Dean nearby to eye him warily while his little brother was so close. That wasn't normal. "Everything okay?"  
  
Sam worked to steady his balance, looking up at Jacob with worry on his face. The bed shook beneath him with every movement the human made, threatening to make him tumble down the slope of the pillow.  
  
“It’s… Dean. I can’t get him up and he looks really _sick._ We’ve…” He tilted his head down at the pillow, shy to admit some things to Jacob. Their upbringings were so different. “I’ve never seen him sick before and now he can’t even look up at the light without it hurting.”  
  
Needless to say, the look of concern didn't leave Jacob's face. He held out a hand for Sam to climb on before he knocked the flustered little guy over with his movements. "Okay, it sounds like he's just hungover from the whiskey," he explained gently. Sensitivity to light was one of many clues to Jacob, considering how _hammered_ Dean had gotten the night before. For his first heavy drink, he was reacting just about as Jacob would have expected.  
  
"I'll have to check on him to make sure but I'm pretty sure that's it. Once I know I'll get some water, okay?" He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed to settle his feet quietly on the floor. He almost stood up and went to the bookshelf, knowing that was where Dean lay, most likely very confused and flustered about the state he was in. But Jacob waited, watching Sam for any amendments to the plan (and to avoid giving away that he'd known almost the whole time where they hid themselves).  
  
Sam braced himself instinctively, slightly awed watching the way Jacob almost filled up his _entire_ line of sight. Jacob's massive chest alone was the size of a building to Sam. All that power, and Jacob wanted to help them out. _Was_ helping them out. Even so, Sam didn’t spend as much time around the kid as Dean by far, and was a lot more unnerved to be all alone with him like this.  
  
But Dean needed help. Sam pointed at the bottom shelf of the bookcase. “He’s down there,” he said. He flushed at the recollection that Dean was currently curled up in Jacob’s t-shirt. There was no way the human _wouldn’t_ recognize it. He wondered suddenly if Jacob had noticed the shirt’s absence. Dean had been adamant he wouldn’t, but now…  
  
Of _course_ Sam would be the one that had to explain Dean's hairbrained idea.  
  
Sam’s arm faltered and he looked over his shoulder, _way_ up at Jacob, driving his size home all over again. “We… borrowed one of your shirts to sleep on,” he said, the worry for Dean in his voice combining with worry for Jacob’s reaction while he was crouched in the human’s hand. If Jacob got annoyed, Sam had nowhere to go. An awareness of how little he was compared to Jacob crashed down over him again. “We were gonna give it back, we just… didn’t have anything to sleep on after we got here.” Sam wondered if his ears could turn any redder. They were burning, and the heat spread to his cheeks, too.  
  
Jacob's concern was replaced for a moment by faint amusement, but he wrestled it off his face. He had known all of that already, of course. What almost surprised him was how embarrassed Sam was to admit the fact. It wasn't like it was his only shirt.  
  
"Hey, no worries, everyone deserves a bed and you made one," he dismissed, dispelling at least one facet of Sam’s worries. He held his hand closer to his chest as always while he stood. "Let's check on Dean."  
  
He took the few steps to the bookshelf, trying to be extra careful with his steps. If he really stomped around like Dean always said, the tremors wouldn't do a hangover any favors. He knelt by the bookshelf to sleepy, noncommittal grumbles from Rumsfeld.  
  
Jacob had his free hand halfway to the books to pull one aside before he remembered to ferry Sam to the floor. He lowered the concerned brother to the bottom shelf with a sheepish smile before cautiously nudging the book out of the way.  
  
"Hey, Dean?" he whispered. "How you feelin,’ buddy?"  
  
Dean cringed away from the sudden influx of light as the book shifted, trying to curl further into the shirt he was wrapped up in. “Ugh…” he moaned. “Sammy, seriously turn down the volume.” He pulled part of the shirt over his face with clumsy, clammy hands, hiding his eyes from the light. “And where’d you get a damn spotlight?”  
  
Sam used the new entrance Jacob had made for them as a shortcut into the small hideaway. Dean’s duffel was pushed to the side, away from his occasional uncomfortable thrashing. Sam knelt down next to him, carefully trying to roll Dean over.  
  
“Dean, Jacob’s here,” he said gently. “He wants to help. C’mon, man.”  
  
Dean moved some of the shirt out of his way, peeking up at Jacob out of the dark folds with two bleary eyes. “Hey, kid.”  
  
Jacob offered a sympathetic smile. He could barely see more than Dean's eyes peering out at him. Normally they were scarcely big enough to see, and now the little guy was squinting at him from the light.  
  
Jacob tilted his head so that he blocked at least some of the light he’d unleashed on the tiny, first-time hangover victim. "Sam tells me you're not feeling very super this morning," he said, trying to keep his voice down. Jacob knew all too well how painful loud noises could be in that state.  
  
"I think you're just hungover from all the drinking," he explained. "You need more time to rest it off, so I'm gonna get you some water and maybe help Bobby around the house for a bit, alright? The last place you should be is out in the sun."  
  
Dean groaned pitifully at the thought of direct sunlight. As much as he wanted to protest, the throbbing in his head dissuaded any plans of arguing against it. Not to mention he barely had enough energy to lift up the damn blanket, nevermind actually crawl his ass over to the pair of boots he’d left by his duffel bag and undertake the momentous task of putting them back on. His toes curled up inside his socks at the thought.  
  
“Fine…” he mumbled up at the human looming in at them, only partially visible through the crack in the books. Jacob's one brown eye peering in was full of nothing but concern. Dean blinked tired eyes in an attempt to focus. The room briefly spun around him, leading him to flop down pointedly and try to cover his head again so he could block it from sight. “I hate everyone.”  
  
Sam sat down next to him, putting a hand on Dean’s concealed figure to offer him support. “And the water will help?” he asked, worried as he felt Dean slightly shaking underneath the fabric. He wondered if he should try bunching up the fabric more to make a second covering. Dean’s body was pushing itself just trying to regulate his temperature.  
  
Jacob nodded. "It should, so long as he just sips it and takes it easy on his stomach," he answered. He'd heard that eating a carb-heavy meal also helped with a hangover, but he always remembered finding the idea absolutely repulsive. Since it was Dean's first time dealing with the symptoms, he would only recommend the simple way.  
  
And, hopefully, the way that didn't have as much risk of Dean being sick all over his shirt.  
  
"Alcohol dehydrates you, a _lot._ That's where the headache comes from. So drinking some water should help even things out while your body sorts out the rest." Jacob wished that he’d thought of his possibility sooner. The two of them were _older_ than he was, and so he hadn't even considered that he'd ever be explaining hangovers to them. He had to remember that their size meant they'd grown up with radically different views of the world.  
  
Jacob started to nudge the book back into place to conceal them. "I'll be right back, okay?" he promised, pushing himself to a stand. With his morning freed up a little, he was already planning out what he'd do with his time. He doubted Bobby needed _that_ much done, and Jacob had had a plan rattling around in his head for the last few days as the repairs came together. He couldn't ignore an opportunity when it arose.  
  
He rushed down the stairs to find a container for enough water for Dean. After briefly explaining to Bobby what had happened, he didn't get any more questions; seemed like the man had foreseen this, unlike Jacob.  
  
He found a cap to hold water and, after some consideration, got a second empty one, just in case Dean needed it. He brought both back to the bookshelf, tapping on the nearest book with a knuckle rather than pull it back. It was a small mercy for Dean, considering Jacob knew he'd be pretty miserable for at least another hour or two.  
  
"Sam, I'm back," he announced in a hushed whisper, knowing it was impossible for Sam not to have noticed his approach, but aiming to be polite.  
  
Sam picked his way across the bunched-up t-shirt, furrowing his brow at the sight of the human. He was slightly surprised that Jacob hadn’t just moved a book out of his way to see them. It showed more consideration for them as people than either brother had ever expected to receive from a human, especially one that wasn’t a part of their family. Jacob was respecting their privacy even after they'd ‘borrowed’ one of his shirts and set up their hideout in his room.  
  
Putting a hand against a book, Sam peered out at Jacob and saw he had the bottlecap of water. “Great, thanks!” he said, brightening at the thought that he’d finally be able to _do_ something to help Dean. Both of their canteens were empty after spending the week around the two humans. They were getting too used to having help.  
  
He held out his hands, then hesitated when he saw the second cap. “What’s that one for?”  
  
Jacob smiled apologetically, thinking more and more that he should have prepared both of them a little better for something like this. It was a learning experience for him as much as it was for Dean, albeit for very different reasons. It wasn't their fault they didn't know some of the same things Jacob took for granted as common knowledge. To them, it was neither common nor useful.  
  
"Hopefully he won't need it," he answered, handing off the cap with water first into those tiny arms and setting down the empty one nearby. "But ... Dean's stomach is pretty weak right now. That's for ... just in case, y'know?"  
  
Sam stared down at his reflection in the water. “Oh.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thrown up. It must have been before being downsized. They hadn’t gotten sick at their new size either, not even a cold. The most experience he had with anything like that was listening to patrons of the motel complain about the sniffles while they were in the rooms, and that didn’t happen much. Sam and Dean were usually much more concerned with staying out of sight at times like that.  
  
Holding the cap of water close, Sam gave Jacob one last smile. “You’ve been a huge help. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Thanks.”  
  
He stepped back into the darkness, eager to get water into Dean so he could start feeling better. The bottlecap, full of cool, fresh liquid, was placed down a few inches from Dean. Sam took out the foil cup from the night before, carefully cleaning it with a few gathered drops of water before anything else. He shaped it back into a cup, working it out of its flattened state with careful fingers and then dipping it into the bottlecap.  
  
Dean was still balled up under the shirt, but he was as easy for Sam to lift up as a kitten. “C’mon, take a drink,” he murmured to his older brother, pulling the fabric of the shirt off of Dean’s head.   
  
The books were straight again, so Dean didn’t cringe when his eyes opened up in the dim light of the alcove. He merely blinked owlishly and tried to focus.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean rasped tiredly.  
  
Sam held the cup against his mouth. “Drink, first,” he commanded. He had to take the cup away a second later when Dean started to gulp it down. “ _Slowly,_ Jacob said. Okay?”  
  
When he got a resigned nod from Dean, he held it back up. Dean took in a few more drops, warily watching Sam to make sure the water, cool and more refreshing than he’d ever known it to be, wasn’t going to vanish from in front of him again. He finished it, slow like Sam said, with a sigh.  
  
Sam let him curl into the fabric. “Feel better, jackass.”  
  


* * *

  
Dean didn’t manage to crawl out of the fabric of the shirt for a few more hours, well after midday. Sam had spent the early afternoon making sure he watched every move, so he wouldn’t miss if Dean needed any help. He even took a small slip of fabric he had tucked away in his bag and wet it, patting down Dean’s forehead like he’d seen done on TV before. It wasn’t clear if it helped, but Dean seemed to appreciate it and that was good enough for Sam.  
  
Licking dry lips, Dean gathered up a drop of water from the bottlecap Sam had left near him. “That hits the spot,” he said. He closed his eyes for a second, glad to feel that the ‘hangover’ was wearing off at last.  
  
Sam gave him a real smile, beyond glad to see Dean moving on his own. “How’s the head?” he asked, remembering that was the worst part.  
  
Dean gave a half shrug. “Hurts, but not bad. I guess I must be getting better.” He managed a winning smile. “Can’t keep this hunter down.”  
  
Sam tossed his damp scrap of fabric at him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You still need a car and someone who can reach the pedals to drive it.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips. “What, you don’t think I’ve thought that far ahead?” He gave Sam a wink, feeling more like himself than he had all day.  
  
“I’m hurt, Sammy. You have no faith.”  
  


* * *

  
Jacob felt like he had a pretty productive morning.  
  
He left Sam and Dean alone for a few hours to give Dean the peace and quiet he needed to recover from the hangover. He could still hardly believe he hadn't thought of it beforehand. When Sam and Dean dragged the whiskey up to him, he was so preoccupied with the gesture that he didn't realize that it was their first time trying the stuff.  
  
In lieu of getting right to work on the car, he helped Bobby out around the house and the scrapyard a bit. The Impala, rid of rust and housing an engine that was nearly in top shape again, waited where he'd left it. After glancing at it a number of times, Jacob's idea came to the fore and he asked Bobby for some advice on achieving what he wanted to.  
  
After getting a list of what he'd need (as well as a grocery list), Jacob drove into town to do the shopping. With Jacob staying in the house, the food disappeared a bit quicker, and making fuller meals for Sam and Dean's benefit didn't help either.  
  
In the early afternoon, Jacob thought it was high time he check on Dean's progress and find out if he'd recovered. He made his way up the stairs, a plastic bag from the auto shop hanging from one hand.  
  
He made it back to the room, setting his spoils down on the floor and kneeling in front of the bookshelf. "Sam? Dean?" he called, keeping his voice down but sounding hopeful all the same.  
  
Sam didn't round the corner like the last time Jacob had come to check on them. Instead, Dean shuffled out into view, rubbing his hair and blinking in the brighter light of the room. He gave off every appearance of someone who’d had a rough night. His hair no longer had its customary spike to it, half of it flattened and the other half sticking out in the wrong direction. He wasn’t wearing his boots, so his slightly-too-long jeans dragged on the ground with a quiet shuffle of fabric when he walked.  
  
Hovering right behind Dean was Sam, mirroring his brother’s every move to make sure he was doing okay. He gave Jacob a thumbs up to let him know that Dean was doing better… even if he didn’t _look_ put together. At all.  
  
Dean brushed his hair back with both hands and tilted his head up at Jacob. “I guess you know where we’ve been hiding out, now,” he said mulishly.  
  
Sam jabbed him in a shoulder, bringing a glare out of Dean. “You needed help,” he said pointedly. It wasn’t Jacob’s fault Sam had all but dragged him over to the bookshelf.  
  
Dean grimaced, but turned back to Jacob. “Thanks for all that, and putting up with my pain-in-the-ass little brother.”  
  
Jacob still didn't let them know that he'd found their hiding space a week ago, and he realized he might never actually tell them. He didn't want to break the sense of ease he'd built up with them all because he'd caught on to Rumsfeld's habits. The dog always knew where they were, and he was a good way to find them.  
  
Instead, he offered a smile to the bedraggled little guy. "No problem." He had a feeling Dean was still reeling from his rough morning, so he kept his voice down more than he usually did with the brothers. "I shoulda warned you to slow down, I didn't even think about it," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "My first hangover wasn't very fun either."  
  
He shifted where he sat so that he wasn't on his knees anymore, instead opting to sit cross legged in front of the bookshelf. "While you were asleep I didn't mess with the Impala, but I did get a chance to go to the auto shop this morning," he explained conversationally, getting right to business. He reached behind himself to drag the plastic bag towards himself so he could pull up one of the various bottles within to show off the _Meguiar's_ label where Dean could see it.  
  
"Just some stuff for the last touches. Your car's cool, Dean, but she could use a little shine," he quipped, the jest clear in his smile and the way it lit up his eyes.  
  
Dean ignored Sam’s protests, jumping down from the two-inch ledge of their hideaway. He couldn’t help it. He knew _exactly_ what that was used for, and he could see the Impala gleaming in his mind’s eye, the way she was meant to.  
  
The wood flooring was rough and coarse beneath his socked feet, but he walked closer to the bottle of _Meguiar’s Ultimate Compound_ that Jacob was brandishing proudly for all to see. Unlike Sam, his nerves for being close to Jacob were nearly gone after working with him for days outside with no one else around. Jacob listened when he talked, and had long ago learned not to grab up the smaller man.  
  
Dean put a hand on the side of the cool black plastic of the bottle, staring at the elegant gold lettering that adorned its front. He could remember John Winchester using the same stuff to buff up the car, making sure she looked as new as she ran. After forty years, the car had looked newer than cars that had rolled off of the line within the month, and Dean would treat her the same.  
  
With Jacob’s help.  
  
Dean took a step back, his head tilted almost straight up to be able to see Jacob from such a close angle. “When do we start?” he asked eagerly, his morning woes forgotten.  
  
The sharp sound of someone clearing his voice came from behind, and Dean twisted around in surprise. Sam was standing on the edge of the shelf with a disapproving frown on his face. A boot dangled from each hand.  
  
“What are you, my mother?” Dean griped.  
  
Jacob snickered at the looks on both of their small faces. He might not be able to pick up every detail thanks to being several stories up by comparison, but he got enough. Sam's bitchface bounced right off of Dean's rumpled, give-me-a-break attitude.  
  
Once again their banter won a smile from him. They were so much like any other pair of brothers, it was easy to forget that they both fit in the palm of his hand.  
  
Jacob stowed the bottle back in the bag with the other supplies before resting his hands on his knees. He'd found it was easier on all of them to relax if Sam and Dean knew where his hands were. It was weird feeling so conscious of something like that, but it didn't cost him anything, and it was heartening to have them becoming bolder around him. Especially Sam, who'd shown himself to be far more shy and hesitant than Dean was around either of the humans in the house.  
  
"That stuff is _probably_ an all day thing," he answered, gamely looking past the brief bickering between the brothers. "There's time left today if you wanted to finish up your mods and climb around the engine block to check it out." Jacob raised his eyebrows as he offered, leaving it up to Dean. He was the one who'd been ill most of the day, after all.  
  
Dean nodded sharply. “We’ve got some good daylight left. I think I’ve sat around long enough.” He strode back towards the bookshelf, realizing he’d actually come an entire foot out in the open without even noticing. Usually that would make him jittery and nervous, but Jacob’s easygoing manner made it feel like they were hanging around like normal guys. As though he wasn’t big enough to sweep them both off the ground in a fist.   
  
They’d all come a long way since that first, fateful meeting.  
  
The two inches to climb back up into the bookshelf took more work than when he’d jumped to the ground, but Dean scrambled up quickly. He snatched his boots back from Sam, making a face at his little brother. Sitting down on the edge of the bookshelf, Dean stuck his boot on and started to lace it up.  
  
“Guess you won’t be drinking like that again?” Sam snarked from the side, smirking at how predictable his brother was.  
  
“Dude, what are you _talking_ about? You didn’t even _try_ it!” Dean tilted his head stubbornly up at Sam. “Next time we drink, there’s no getting out of it for you. We’ll try beer… or something. At least _that_ you’ve had before.” He started to lace his other boot.  
  
Jacob chuckled again. "Beer is a better option, yeah. It shouldn't get you drunk nearly as fast. That whiskey was ..." Jacob trailed off for a second and shrugged apologetically. At least he could say it was partially Bobby's fault for giving the flask to them in the first place. "It was pretty strong. If you wanna try it again, Dean, you gotta sip it. One glass of that is worth around eight beers."  
  
His explanation gave Dean enough time to get his boots on, and Jacob offered a hand. He'd gotten strangely used to the action, and he wondered what he'd do when he didn't have to look out for smaller folk on the floor or offer them a ride somewhere if they wanted it. He was excited that they were nearing the end of the repairs, but it was a little bittersweet.  
  
After the Impala was fixed, Jacob wouldn't really be needed around there anymore. He'd have to head out before he overstayed his welcome.  
  
Regardless, he would miss the little guys. Their stubborn attitudes and determined natures. A lot of humans could stand to learn from them.  
  
Dean climbed up to Jacob’s shoulder with no idea what thoughts were on the teen’s mind. For him, their time at Bobby’s was shaping up perfectly. The car was almost finished, they had their father’s journal to pore over, hoping that it could give them some clue to where he’d vanished to.  
  
All they needed now was a driver for the Impala, since their legs were a little too short.  
  
And of course, Dean had a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is always up to something, Sam. Have faith in your older bro. He got you this far, didn't he? XD
> 
> Some of my favorite interactions in this chapter, giving Jacob and Sam a chance to spend some time together. If anyone's wondering, Sam avoids being alone with Jacob because he's not quite sure how to act around their teenage friend. He's been tiny for over half his life, Dean tends to be his buffer.
> 
> ***Poll is up! Vote for what story you want to read next at brothersapart.tumblr.com!***
> 
> Last: Coming July 14th at 9pm est.
> 
> Drop us a comment or kudos if you're enjoying the storyline! For all fans of Brothers Lost, have no fear. No matter what story wins the poll, there is plenty more ahead for the BL storyline!


	27. On the Road Again

The afternoon proved that the hangover wouldn't hold Dean back any longer. With the new sense of motivation driving them, Jacob and Dean attacked what was left of the modifications on the Impala, actually finishing them up to Dean's standards.  
  
Jacob went back into the house that evening grinning over it. After days of griping and careful measuring and tedious work, Dean's panic room and entrance to the car was done. And _Jacob_ had been the one to build it.  
  
The following day was much more straightforward. With the detailing and polishing materials for the car in their possession, the time was devoted to scrubbing at the Impala's faded, oxidized paint. Too many years weathering the elements, even under that cover, had left her dull. Not a shine was left on the black paint, but Dean and Jacob were going to fix that.  
  
The process took a long time, and Dean spared no expense. He didn't let Jacob miss a single spot, and his sharper eyes guaranteed it. The oxidized paint was scrubbed away, and then new sealant and glaze and wax were applied, leaving the forty year old car looking like she'd just been made new. She seemed as proud as Dean was of the work they’d done. Suddenly the glare off her surface was almost blinding.  
  
Jacob couldn't feel his arms that night after the constant work of scrubbing that impressive shine into the Impala. He fell asleep wondering how Dean had managed to walk around on the scorching black metal all day without burning himself.  
  
The second day after Dean's first hangover, they worked on the engine again. Jacob watched, still fascinated, as Dean crawled right into the tiny nooks and crannies to check everything, often griping for the flashlight angle to be adjusted. The very tiny mechanic and his would-be apprentice were _so close._ They ended up missing lunchtime in favor of racing to the finish line.  
  
In the early afternoon, Jacob borrowed Dean's key. In sharp contrast to the wheezing, pitiful attempts to turn the ignition over the first time, the Impala roared to life with a proud rumble. Jacob was positive even Sam heard it, tucked away in some book in the house with Rumsfeld as his guard.  
  
Jacob brought Dean into the house after that so he could go and brag to Sam about the good news. He got himself a quick shower, early in the afternoon, but, he thought, well-earned. It wasn't every day he finished restoring a classic car, after all.  
  
It started to sink in when he pulled a clean shirt over his head and glimpsed his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The spring days were still nowhere near as hot as the South Dakota summers promised they could be, but the sun had left Jacob tanner than before. He couldn't believe he'd spent _weeks_ helping a man the size of his finger fix up a car.  
  
_And now I've got a story ... that I can never tell anyone,_ he mused ruefully.  
  
He'd done his job. It was time to think about moving on, like he did at the end of all his jobs.  
  
"Hey, Bobby," he said, greeting the man with a faint smile, glad he caught him in between a rush of phone calls from hunters all over the country. "Thanks again for letting me stay here, man. I really appreciate it. But, uh, like we said before, the Impala's all fixed up, so... I'll probably think about heading out pretty soon."  
  
Bobby straightened, brushing off his hands. “That so?” He gave the teen a discerning stare, sizing him up. After all the time spent repairing the Impala with Dean, Bobby had to admit that Jacob had impressed him. He’d weathered Dean’s moods as well as anyone else he’d ever met, with the only exception being Sam himself. That would be an unfair comparison, of course, since Sam had idolized Dean from childhood, always trailing after his older brother. If anyone knew Dean better than he knew himself, it was Sam.  
  
Not much had changed since those boys were kids. After a day out working on the Impala, Dean would come back in and the two could always be found together. In fact, they weren’t far from the kitchen right then, checking out some of the passageways that threaded through the walls. It gave them a great hiding place to hear what was going on above them with Bobby and Jacob none the wiser.  
  
Which was good, because this conversation was definitely one that interested them.  
  
After sizing Jacob up, Bobby gave himself a nod. “You’ll want to say goodbye to the boys, then. They won’t forgive you if you just head off without giving them a chance to thank you. And they won't forgive _me_ if I letcha.”  
  
Jacob grinned and nodded, thinking nothing of Bobby's thoughtful pause. "Yeah, of course," he agreed. "I'm not dashing out right away or anything." He still had to gather up his few possessions and pack them up.  
  
"I'll just be upstairs," he added before giving Bobby a brief wave and heading for the stairs. He paused to give Rumsfeld a pat when the dog tilted his head at him. Rumsfeld had seemed to get used to Jacob, particularly around Sam and Dean. Their guard dog was convinced that Jacob wouldn't do them any harm, something Jacob was both proud and grateful for.  
  
Jacob moved at a leisurely pace, unconcerned with rushing out but tossing his clothes back into his duffel bag and backpack all the same, noting that he was running low on clean laundry. He figured Sam and Dean might wander into the room soon, since their little hideaway remained on the shelf even after his ‘discovery.’  
  
In the meantime, he laid down on the bed, his hands behind his head and his eyes facing the ceiling. He could afford a few minutes' rest while he considered where he'd travel next to look for work.  
  
As Jacob stared up at the ceiling, the sheet that was draped to the side of where he was stretched out shook a little. A small hand reached up, grabbing up the sheet in a bunch as the man that hand was attached to hauled himself over the edge.  
  
Sam bounced to his feet, peering off the edge of the bed and making a face at Dean. “Slowpoke!” he mouthed, keeping quiet to give Dean time to get up before Jacob discovered them there. It was instinctive for them to keep quiet up until the very end, regardless of their comfort level with the human in the room.  
  
Sam still felt more nervous around Jacob than Dean. He couldn’t help it, really. He just hadn’t spent as much time around the gigantic teen.  
  
Dean finally made it to the top. Sam grabbed him by the back of his leather jacket, hauling a griping, bitching Dean off of the side of the bed and dropping him down on the plushy surface.  
  
“What the hell?” Dean complained, pushing himself free of Sam. “I wasn’t even far behind this time!”  
  
Jacob's gaze flickered to the two brothers in time to see Dean's indignant kicking before Sam let him go. A grin slowly overtook his face; he made a valiant effort to hold it back, but it was no use. Dean was like a kitten for a second or two, dangling by his jacket like that. And, from the look on his face, completely ready to throw a punch. Jacob suspected that this wasn't the first time Sam had pulled a stunt like that.  
  
"Hey, guys," he greeted them. He very nearly pushed himself up to a sitting position, but with them so close to the edge of the bed, he chose to remain still. With the way the bed could dip down beneath his weight, it would only take one mistake to knock them off.  
  
"Has Dean been bragging about the car to ya, Sam? I'll have you know I helped a little with that," he quipped with a chuckle.  
  
Sam grinned back. “He hasn’t stopped talking about it yet. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to drag me outside to see what you two made of his ‘panic room’ idea.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and wandered closer to Jacob, leaving Sam behind. “Actually, the car’s just what we wanted to talk to you about. Since you did all that work for us.” He grabbed onto the edge of Jacob’s shirt and pulled himself up. His leather duffel swung against his back as he scaled, leaving Sam in the dust for once with the easier climb. The key to the Impala could be seen sticking out of the bag, the tip of it extending out over an inch.  
  
Reaching the top, Dean straightened. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and strolled casually forward. “Heard you’ll be heading out on us soon,” he said gruffly, tilting his head to meet Jacob’s eyes.  
  
Jacob remembered to breathe after a few seconds of the sensation of tiny boots walking on his chest. Sam wasn't far behind Dean, and, being the swifter climber, joined his brother soon enough.  
  
Jacob had two _entire people_ standing on his chest.  
  
Rather than make a quip about how eating his wheaties paid off, Jacob concentrated on not toppling them with the steady rise and fall caused by his breathing. He was amazed that they had come so far in trusting him. Enough to walk on him so casually, even though it put them in easy reach of hands that could close around their entire bodies.  
  
"Well, I guess, yeah," he admitted, almost shrugging but stopping the motion just in time. "I mean, the car's all fixed. That's why you let me stick around, right?" He smiled sheepishly, thinking this had to be one of the strangest conversations he had ever held simply because he was talking to someone standing on his chest like it was completely normal.  
  
Something in Dean's demeanor held Jacob's attention, and he fell silent, waiting for his response. It was definitely different from the usual attitude he saw when Dean was explaining something or other about the car.  
  
“Heh,” Dean laughed. “Maybe the first day. Look…” He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how he should approach the idea he’d gotten while repairing the Impala. Sam was better at talking to people, when he wasn't flustered by them.  
  
All at once then. Otherwise he might not get it out.  
  
Dean took a deep breath. “Y’know, you don’t… _have_ to leave. Me an’ Sam… we can do a lot, but the Impala… she’s gonna need a driver now that she’s fixed up. I can’t really reach the pedals like I used to when I was a kid.” He started to pace. “Hunting ain’t for everyone, but we’re supposed to be out _there_ ,” Dean waved a hand at the window. “We were never supposed to be the victims. We were supposed to be the ones _saving people._ Keeping other kids from being cursed the way we were.”  
  
Small green eyes stared right up at Jacob and Dean paused in his pacing. “You might not think it, but you’ve got it in you to be a hunter just like Bobby. Just like our dad. We can make a _difference,_ the three of us.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips in a smile. “And… you’re not half bad, tiny.”  
  
The serious speech kept Jacob quiet, but the nickname did him in. "Ha," slipped from him before he could stop himself, and it briefly shook the ground under Dean and Sam's boots. "Sorry," he amended, sheepish again when their hands shot out to catch their balance. To his credit, he'd never had tiny people standing right over his lungs when he laughed before.  
  
Something about being called _tiny_ by one of said miniature people was too funny.  
  
Jacob let a pause draw out for a second as he thought over the memories of the last couple of weeks. He'd gotten along with the brothers a little better each day; it was hard for him to let even their wary attitudes keep him down for too long; they still deserved friendliness. In the end, the wariness wasn't their fault. It was simply the way they had to be to survive in the world.  
  
He had no idea that it had meant enough to them that they were considering letting him drive their car around, carrying them along, to go and _hunt monsters._ They'd be dealing with an amateur in the life that they'd spent their childhoods steeped in. A _giant_ amateur. They would be trusting Jacob with their well being every time they got into the car astride his shoulders, or stepped willingly into his grasp.  
  
"You'd ... you really wouldn't mind hanging around Godzilla all the time?" Jacob asked, an incredulous but delighted smile slowly creeping onto his face.  
  
Dean gave him a stern stare, doing his best to keep his serious demeanor before he ruined it with a smile. He pointed at Jacob. “Well, you’ll have to remember not to grab, and if we go back to the _Trails West_ you’ll need to keep from going on a rampage near our family…”  
  
That was when he gave in, and smirked back at Jacob. “But yeah. We want ya with us. It can’t hurt to have Godzilla on our side, can it?”  
  
“Just remember, you’ll have to put up with Dean all day!” Sam chimed in helpfully from behind.  
  
He got a scowl out of Dean in the middle of trying to fumble the key out of his bag. “ _Hey,_ ” Dean griped, pointing the Impala’s key at Sam like a sword. “Quit your bitchin.’ No one asked you to play nursemaid the other morning. I was _fine_ on my own, thank you very much.”  
  
He turned back to Jacob, and after a moment’s hesitation, held the key out to him. “So, whaddya say, Godzilla? Ready to protect the city from the other monsters?”  
  
Jacob's smile remained and he stared at the key that Dean held out. That jagged piece of metal hadn't left Dean's side since Bobby entrusted it to him. It was easy to see that the car was Dean's pride and joy and the key was the symbol of that. While he worked his way through explaining all the repairs, he'd never given Jacob an inch of leeway. No mistakes, nothing less than perfection.  
  
And here he was, ready to hand off the key.  
  
Jacob shifted to free one of his arms from beneath his head, trying and failing to avoid making them sway where they stood. _All part of being Godzilla, I guess,_ he thought to himself with a smirk.  
  
His freed hand approached slowly, pinching the cool metal carefully and taking the key into his hand like a piece of precious metal. He understood from Dean's expression just whose car the Impala still was. Jacob would drive, but the car was all Dean's, and he didn't mind all that much. He still got to drive a badass car.  
  
"Since you guys asked so nicely," he quipped, glancing between the two of them with a widening smile.  
  
"I'll do my best."  


* * *

  
The next morning found Bobby on his own in the kitchen. He fielded yet another call on his phone, wondering how exactly Garth had managed to keep his ass in one piece as long as he had. Out of all the hunters he worked with, that kid was certainly the most…  
  
Well, maybe not the _most_ unique.  
  
His eyes drifted to the scrapyard that stretched out behind his house. Jacob’s Mercury had replaced the Impala beneath the cover, waiting loyally for when its owner returned for it. This time, the car wouldn’t be forgotten, Bobby knew. And if it needed to be fixed up, there was a certain small mechanic just raring to go.  
  
The distant sound of an engine roared to life and he let himself smile. He’d had his suspicions about what Sam and Dean were up to with Jacob, and he hadn’t been disappointed. They’d given the kid a second chance.  
  
Second chances were something that both brothers would always hold dear to their hearts after being given a second chance of their own. They’d escaped that motel, size be dammed, and now they had a mission.  
  
_Saving_ people. _Hunting_ things.  
  
If there ever was a mission that ran in the family, that was it. They were off to find their dad, and would find every case they could, save every person they could find along the way.  
  
And Jacob would be there to help them.  
  
The Impala screeched out of the driveway of the house.  
  
On the road again.  
  
**FIN**

[Artwork by Mogadeer!](http://mogadeer.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're here already. The conclusion of the first story to Brothers Lost.
> 
> Well, most of us could have told Jacob exactly what was coming. Bobby figured out what Sam and Dean were up to long before even they knew. The bros are back on the road with Godzilla as backup, and they're not about to let a little thing like size hold them back! They'll track their father down and in the meantime, any monster or spirit that gets in their way better watch out!
> 
> Saving people. Hunting things. The family business.
> 
>  
> 
> **THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE JOURNEY FOR THESE THREE! BROTHERS LOST WILL CONTINUE IN THE FUTURE!**
> 
>  
> 
> \--New story starts July 17th, 2016 at 9pm est!
> 
> Leave us a comment or drop some kudos off if you enjoyed the first installment of Brothers Lost! :D


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